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    important sugar plantation owner there, and Marguerite is his only child. I saw her father at the Brianskys’ home last night. He asked me pointed questions about you, and from my own inquiries of Count Briansky, I gather that the Prince wishes to find a husband for his daughter.”
    â€œWhy can’t she find one herself? She must be at least twenty-three. Why does her father travel to the capital to marry her off?”
    â€œHe was here to see a minister. Don’t be an idiot, Boris. And don’t condemn this girl. Kiev does not possess the possibilities of the capital, and surely her father would wish the most advantageous life for her. As for you—you know all the unmarried women in St. Petersburg, yet you have chosen none. Perhaps you should search outside for a suitable bride.”
    â€œI simply do not wish to marry. I have a lovely sister, and would rather be loved by her than by a wife. Besides, I am not without female companions, Papa. Princess Marguerite is thin, nervous, and sickly, from what I remember. Do you not recall the rumors several years ago? She suffered a nervous collapse and was sent to Switzerland. Besides, she upset my constitution when I last saw her. It was when I made that trip across Russia in search of unusual icons—and I visited the provincial governor. Marguerite and I met then. It was quite enough, thank you.”
    â€œShe is coming to Petersburg, Borya. Her father is sending her, to enjoy the remainder of the winter season. She is to stay at the Brianskys’. I should appreciate it if you called upon her and took her somewhere. The theatre—wherever. I see in her an excellent possibility. You do not need a flamboyant hostess, for you are sufficiently flamboyant yourself. She is not a bad-looking girl, and her family is excellent. In short, I would be pleased to have her bear your sons. I would have preferred a truly unique woman along the lines of your late mother, a charming, witty beauty, as was the dowager empress in her youth. But short of that, a cultured, aristocratic girl, a bit shy and provincial, will do. The Tumarkin connections cannot hurt a Kussov in court circles, and Nina’s Stassov would like that. He does business with Marguerite’s father.”
    Boris’s eyes had half-closed to slits and now the irises shone
    between his lashes like bits of blue glass. He had intertwined his fingers so that his hands were gripped together like taut vines. His father regarded him with a scowl that turned into a look of surprise, then of dismay. Boris resembled a carved alabaster statue of compressed anger and restrained force. The two men remained wordless as the flames rose and fell listlessly before them, sending out no warmth.
    Then the study door was opening, and a gay female voice filled the room, dispelling the static between father and son. The young woman who greeted her brother filled Boris’s nostrils with the perfume of attar of roses.
    â€œNina!” he cried, seizing her wrists, and she collapsed into his arms, joining him in laughter. Count Vassily closed his eyes, crossed himself in the Orthodox fashion, and touched the wedding ring on his finger as though it were a soothing icon. The flames in the great ebony hearth had subsided to dying embers, and the brass tong stood forgotten near Boris’s chair.

Chapter 2
    N atalia awakened in the middle of the night from a vague dream of Christmas trees growing and children playing with life-sized toy soldiers. While she had been dreaming, her conscious voice had spoken out, telling her that the children were only an illusion, that the tree was a fantasy teasing her, that she herself was really in bed, sleeping. She had awakened with a jolt, and now, sitting up, she thought: My God, yes! That is the secret—so simple, after all! We do not have to take The Nutcracker seriously, for it was meant to be a dream within a dream, a joke. The spectators all know it is a fairy