LITMIR.BIZ

      The following day, directly after lunch, Hershel packed a small case, saddled his horse, and rode to Slabodka. He went through the small, bustling town and started over the wooden bridge, traversing the narrow Neris River to Kaunas, his horse’s shoes thumping upon the heavy planks. Riding the ten versts from Gremai had been good exercise for both the horse and the expert rider on his back.

      Kaunas was a strange looking city, he thought, compared to most of those in Europe. Having been initially built as a fortress, to aid in its defensive role, the Russians, upon their seizure of the city, had decreed that no house could rise higher than two stories, and set about demolishing those which did. But since the four storied city hall, known throughout the country as the White Swan, and the equally high, twin steepled Jesuit church to the left of the bridge were national landmarks, the Russians made a reluctant exception. However, to counter the fact that Kaunas contained the Vytautas-The-Great Church, erected five hundred years ago in honor of the Grand Prince, the Russians built the Sobor, a magnificent three domed Byzantine Orthodox church that dominated the new part of the city and stood as high as the Jesuit’s. It was purposely placed near to the railroad station so it would command the eye from near and afar, and thereby explain to the Roman Catholics and the Jews alike just which religion ruled here.

      On the main street was a glistening, white stone and marble theater, renowned for its fine operas and ballets. A few blocks further on was an open rotunda of the same white stone and marble, decorated extensively with rococo work, held up by a score of tall, slender columns. It was an outdoor concert hall, set in a park of carefully tended flower beds and shade trees.

      Across from the park was the library, again of the white stone and marble, huge, square, of a modern design, with tall, narrow windows. A series of semicircular steps led up to the entrance.

      Hershel dismounted, tied his horse to a hitching rail, tipped the horsewatcher a coin to make certain the animal remained on its best behavior and did not begin kicking out at those nearby, and trotted up the twenty or so steps. Inside it was cool, but well illuminated by electric lights that the Governor had ordered installed as one of the first projects in the city. A voracious reader, the library was his favorite haunt. A guard at the doorway, colorfully uniformed with a polished saber at his side, glanced at Hershel, took in the fine clothing, then turned back to gazing off into space.

      In the main reading room were a score or more of mahogany tables with matching naval captain’s chairs. At the far side were two large oak doors. A gendarme, stiffly alert, sat at a small table in front of the doors. Only those with special passes were permitted inside, for here were found the Lithuanian and Polish reference books. For more than a hundred years, no publications in those languages had been permitted outside of official storage areas. However, since Poland had spawned scores of excellent writers, a large number of their books had been kept for private use only.

      Katrine was seated at the end of a line of tables, and as Hershel walked up, he was once again captivated by her beauty. He angled his approach to see her thick, red-brown hair, shimmering with life, hanging in a single braid nearly to the floor. She sat totally erect, as if a soldier on parade, and her high, full breasts rose gently as she breathed. She was unlike any woman he had met. While others avoided the harsh damaging rays of the sun, huddling under parasols at the first hint of tanning, she gloried in its warmth, and had a golden hue over every part of her body.

      She must have sensed him, for she looked up and pinned him with those brilliant gray-green eyes that drew you in like a suction cup. Her wide, sensitive lips crinkled in a welcoming smile.

      He sat across from her, feasting his eyes, drinking in the magnetism she radiated. She knew better than to speak, for Hershel would never forgive her for interrupting one of his ways of saying how much he loved her.

      After a while, he took a deep breath and sighed. “You are the most magnificent woman on this earth,” he said softly. “Hello. I adore you.”

      “Hello, my darling. I love you, too.” She smiled in that slow, eye catching manner that played on his sensations like the twang of a harp string. “Did you completely undress me with that look?”

      He chuckled, his arms aching to reach across the table and haul her over to his side. “No. I stopped at your petticoat. God knows I would have an accident in my trousers if I peeked under that.”

      She laughed in her smooth, sensible tone, pinpoints of a flush on her cheeks.

      Countess

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