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 Washington. Volkonsky had been surprisingly lucky all his life, but luck always takes a turn. Now, his recall as Minister would be of more consequence than his escapades as attaché or Secretary of Legation. Then, he had played wild works with her fortune, such as it was. Madame Volkonsky's thoughts grew bitter. First had come that struggle of her girlhood—then her artistic career—ending in a cruel failure. Afterward the dreadful years of life tied to Koller's bath chair—followed by her stormy and disappointed widowhood. This was the first place she had ever gained that promised security or happiness—and behold! all was likely to fall like a house of cards.

They paid one or two visits, and left cards at several places. Madame Volkonsky had imagined that nothing could dull the exquisite pleasure of being a personage, of being followed, flattered, admired. She found out differently. The fame of her beauty and accomplishments had preceded her. Everywhere she received the silent ovation which is the right of a beautiful and charming woman—but her heart was heavy. At one place she passed Olivia and her father coming out as they were going in. Olivia, wrapped in furs, looked uncommonly pretty and free from care. As the two women passed, each, while smiling affably, wore that hostile air which ladies are liable to assume under the circumstances. The Colonel was all bows and smiles to Madame Volkonsky as usual, and refrained from calling her Eliza.