174 THROUGH RUSSIA ON A MUSTANG. 



stood in a corner as a punishment for some slight 

 breach of discipline. 



It was all very interesting, and when, on returning 

 to St. Petersburg after the ride to the Crimea, a lady 

 invited me to accompany her to one of the largest con- 

 vents in Russia, I readily accepted. This was the 

 Monastery of Novodaiveetsa, in the eastern suburbs of 

 St. Petersburg. This visit turned out to be even more 

 interesting than the other. 



We took with us a little tea-set to present to a nun 

 with whom my friend was acquainted, and who, it was 

 believed, would show us over the place. A ninth-day 

 service for a young lady who had been buried in the 

 convent cemetery was going on in the church when we 

 arrived. There was the same plaintive singing by a 

 choir of novices as at Karashavitch, only, this being 

 a mass for the dead, two patriarchal priests performed 

 the rites. The head-dresses were of a hussar, rather 

 than Pomeranian Guard pattern, and veils of black 

 crape flowed to the ground. In one corner, facing the 

 choristers, was an old lady weeping bitterly, the mother 

 of the young woman for whom the service was held. 

 One of the nuns presented her with a loaf of holy bread. 



Sister Salavioff, recognizing my companion, came 

 over and kissed her several times, first on one cheek, 

 then on the other, and saluted the author with a bow. 

 Hers was a pale face, and, save for a roguish twinkle 

 in a pair of remarkably lively black eyes, might have 

 served as a model for a typical holy Sister. After the 

 service it was her duty to extinguish the candles, when 

 she said she would show us everything worth seeing in 

 the convent. 



