She took her place behind the countess, who sat before the mirror, smoking, and began, as carefully as possible, to comb out her long hair. The lovely woman examined her own features critically to-day. One peculiarity of her face, otherwise faultless,--a peculiarity that reminded her of the Russian type,--irritated her excessively; she thought her cheek-bones somewhat too high. Just as she was contemplating this imaginary defect, the maid slightly pulled her hair. It was too much for her patience. "Maschinka!" she cried, starting up and snatching the comb from the poor girl's hand. A flash--a blow--and Maschinka stooped silently to pick up the pieces of the broken comb. The print of its teeth was left upon her pale cheek, but no word, no cry of pain, escaped her lips,--her eyes alone looked tearful. "Get another!" ordered her mistress, as if nothing had happened, and she sat down again. Maschinka obeyed, and finished the coiffure, and the rest of the toilette, without further disaster. Then she brought riding-whip, hat, and gloves, and the countess descended the richly-carpeted stairs. Suddenly she stood still, and called, "Maschinka!" "Madame!" "Does your cheek hurt you?" "Oh, no!" whispered the girl. "What? Don't lie! Well, then, rub it with cold cream, from the silver box on my dressing-table; and keep the box,--I give it to you." Without listening to the girl's thanks, she passed on. Her magnificent Arabian was led, snorting and foaming, around the court-yard. She beckoned to the stout, bearded Russian, who could scarcely restrain it, and he led it towards her. Another servant, in a rich livery, brought sugar upon a silver plate. She fed the noble animal, who was instantly soothed, kissed its smooth forehead, patted its neck, and mounted lightly to her place upon its back. "What o'clock?" she asked, as the servant handed her the whip, and she rose in the stirrup to arrange the folds of her dress. "Past five o'clock, madame," was the answer. "I shall return at eight. The carriage must be ready by twelve. Tell Maschinka to have my dress prepared." "As madame pleases," replied the servant. "Open!" cried the countess, and a third groom, who had been waiting for this order, threw open the double gates of the court-yard, letting in a flood of morning sun-light. All reared beneath his lovely burden, as if he would soar with her into the clouds, but a quick cut from her whip somewhat cooled his Pegasus ardour, and he sprang forward, almost running over a servant, who had not moved aside quite quickly enough, and gained the street. Here, however, his mistress reined him in. "The dogs!" she called.