"Yes; but the ice is so thick that there is not the slightest danger. You should go to the races while you are in Petersburg."
"On Sunday!" I cried.
"True!" he responded, in some confusion. "You are Protestant."
"Yes; and my sister would be shocked if you suggested such a thing to her."
"Will you come now?" asked my companion, seeing that the other occupants of the room had made a move.
We followed, and skirted the conservatory, turning into an apparently endless corridor, lined on one side with portraits of the Emperors of Russia at all ages. On the other side were windows looking into the Hermitage, and standards holding magnificent Sèvres vases. The rest of our walk was through a labyrinth of splendor, of which I retain only a confused memory. I have vague recollections of an enormous throne-room, with a raised dais for the throne; vistas of long passages, with arched ceilings and painted walls; a smaller throne-room; immense malachite vases; lapis-lazuli tables; rosewood cabinets, with delicate painted panels; ebony doors, inlaid with gold, silver, and ivory; pillars of marble and granite, from Finland and Siberia; a huge room with rows of silver candelabra, reaching nearly from floor to ceiling; marqueterie floors, polished to such an extent that it was with the utmost difficulty I kept my equilibrium; painted ceilings, mirrors, and pictures.
"It is certainly the most beautiful palace I ever saw," I exclaimed.
