Gloria Victis! by Ossip Schubin

It is evening in the drawing-room at Tornow, and the air breathes soft and fragrance-laden through the open window; the monotonous chirp of the crickets sounds loud and shrill as if to drown the sweet plaint of the nightingale. Beyond the circle of light cast by the lamps more than half of the spacious room is quite dark.

The Countess Lodrin is bending over an embroidery frame, busied in working the Zinsenburg crest upon a hassock; Oswald, Georges, and Pistasch, who, when the races were over had accepted an invitation to come to Tornow with Georges, are eagerly discussing a false start. Oswald, the quietest of the three, glances from time to time at his mother.