it is snowing too

in St. Petersburg....the Count is close to the warmth of the fire in his opulent study, surrounded by books bound in leather and gold.....fine art adorns the walls....the knick-knacks are priceless....he is reading a letter from Natasha, his cousin on his mother's side....she is an anarchist, living hidden in the Urals, hunted by the agents of the Czar.....her lover watches her in the lamplight, as she slowly packs explosives into a ceramic doll.....he has his rifle in pieces on the table, making sure everything is clean and in working order....outside a wolf howls in the snowy night, a moonbeam sneaks through the clouds to glance off a long canine....the Count rings for the butler, he desires warm vodka....he is confused by the letter from his cousin.....the butler enters the study....his hair is perfect....