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prepared for him,” she said, smiling her thanks as he held her chair for her. “He had followed the same pattern of attack in the past few days, you understand. I had the advantage of knowing the pattern.”
    â€œOf course,” he murmured. “Unfortunately, I had no inkling of your skill, or of your knowledge, hence my chivalrous anxiety to forestall you in a matter that I so mistakenly considered to be more my province than yours.”
    Sophie regarded him with a hint of suspicion, but the face bent upon her exhibited only candor and a smile that seemed to invite her to turn the ridiculous squabble into a shared jest. “I do not tolerate having my bridle caught, Count,” she said carefully. “But I have a rather hasty temper, and I am afraid that I may have overreacted.”
    â€œPerhaps we should agree to forget the matter,” he suggested.
    â€œWith pleasure,” agreed Sophia Alexeyevna. “Will you try a little of the braised pike, Count? It is caught in our own rivers.”
    Supper passed thus, in pleasant conversation and apposite compliments, while Prince Golitskov ate with the sparse appetite of the elderly and watched and listened in sardonic amusement as Count Danilevski set out to win the confidence of the princess. Golitskov was well aware that Sophie, although she responded with more than simple courtesy to their guest’s conversational sallies, was wary, was waiting for an explanation that she knew concerned her. But it suited the old prince to keep her in suspense for a while longer. He was interested to see how she bore up under the strain, whether the cool head that served her so well in the physical arena operated as well when the tensions were social and emotional. If it did, he would fear less for her when she was lost to him, swallowed in the political mire that had destroyed her parents.
    But Alexis had been naive, his father thought with the old stab of sorrow. He had trusted, had embraced causes with enthusiastic conviction, had seen none of the dangers inherent in this place and time for those indulging in intellectual and emotional commitment to people or ideas. Why else would a man of thirty put himself in an ambivalent political position, flee without thought, then kill himself because his wife died in childbed? For the old pragmatist, it defied understanding, now as always.
    With the benefit of hindsight Golitskov had brought up his granddaughter in a different way than he had her father. He had taught her to trust only in her own strengths, to believe only in the facts of her physical environment. Now he watched the girl, sensing her control, the way she weighed her words, never allowing herself the luxury of an ill-considered response. She was behaving as if she were astride a half-broken stallion whose next move must be anticipated. With an unholy glee, Prince Golitskov could also sense the puzzlement of his guest, confronted by this apparently country-bred young woman who spoke impeccable French, as if she were in oneof the salons of Petersburg or Moscow, yet clearly fitted no conventional mold.
    How would the unknown General, Prince Paul Dmitriev react to his chosen bride and reward? The prince’s amusement died rapidly. It was one thing to take pleasure in observing his granddaughter’s behavior with a man who, apart from the briefest involvement, would have no say in her life; quite another to contemplate that behavior with a man he did not know, whose wife, and therefore chattel, she would become. Perhaps he should accompany her to St. Petersburg…. But he was old and stiff and tired and he had not been to court for forty years. What help could he be to a young woman starting out on her life?
    â€œAre you quite well, Grandpère ? Something seems to be disturbing you.” Sophie spoke directly across the table, its polished wood glowing, the silver gleaming in the soft yellow puddles of light from the oil lamps. The sudden