all her associations, there was born with her an admiration for Anglo-Saxon pluck which made her despise Volkonsky methods. The idea of scheming and designing to placate a man who had caught him cheating at cards filled her with infinite contempt.
In the course of the next few days, Madame Volkonsky was deeply exercised over the influence that Pembroke would have upon her future. She had talked their affairs over often with her husband in those few days. He had not failed to convey to her the rather exaggerated impression that he had received from Ryleief, as to Pembroke's power to harm.
One afternoon, when Volkonsky and his wife were driving in their victoria, they passed the Secretary of State's carriage drawn up to the sidewalk. Pembroke was about to step into it. The Secretary himself, a handsome, elderly man, was leaning forward to greet him, as Pembroke placed his foot on the step. Madame Volkonsky looked at her husband, who looked blankly back in return. The Secretary's carriage whirled around, and both gentlemen bowed—the Secretary to both the Minister and his wife, Pembroke pointedly to Madame Volkonsky.
Volkonsky turned a little pale as they drove off.
"I wonder if the Secretary will ever speak to us again," said Madame Volkonsky, half maliciously.
Yet it was as much to her as to him. It would indeed be hard were they driven in disgrace from
