“Yes, and grumbled because there was no room communicating directly with it. They wished to be near their lady, and actually wanted us to connect the Tapestried Chamber with the adjoining room by there and then cutting a doorway through the wall.” “And when I refused,” pursued Boris, “on the ground that I could not make any alteration in government property without the consent of the government, I thought they would never cease laughing, though for my part I could see nothing to laugh at. In the evening about seven of the clock the boyarine and her party arrived.” “And how sweet and gracious she was!” commented Nadia. “Different altogether from her retinue. Do you mind that ugly haughty man in uniform, with the long spurs and the fierce moustaches. He’s a fire-eater, if you like! He spent an hour after dinner in fencing with another officer, as lordly as himself. One of the maids so far condescended to me as to say that he practised this sword-play every day in order to be able to kill a certain Englishman.” “He must take care that the Englishman doesn’t kill him,” smiled Wilfrid.—“They have all gone to bed, I suppose?” “All,” replied Boris. “The boyarine in the Tapestried Chamber; in the room on her right the two maids, in that on the left the—the——” “The Ugly One,” interjected Nadia. “And the rest here and there in different rooms.” “And they are staying for the night only?” asked Wilfrid. “For the night only. They set off at ten in the morning for St Petersburg.” “You didn’t hear the boyarine’s name?” “We didn’t hear the names of any of them. They wish to remain unknown. ‘The name,’ said the officer with the spurs, who seems to be the boyarine’s right-hand man, ‘the name by which we choose to be known is Pay-well. Ask questions and it shall be Pay-not.’” “It is the fashion,” remarked Nadia, “with some of our noble ladies to spend a week or two of religious seclusion in some convent. From a few words let fall by one of the party I believe the boyarine is returning from some such a visit.” “It may be,” responded Wilfrid. “Is she young or old?” “Not much past twenty,” replied Nadia. “And her appearance?” “Her appearance!” repeated Nadia with enthusiastic warmth. “Her appearance! Ah! gospodin, how can one describe what is indescribable? I am told that there lives a German duchess so beautiful that once, when passing through a certain village of Italy, the simple-minded peasants knelt, believing her to be the Madonna. I think our boyarine must be that duchess, so sweet and beautiful is she.” “Dark or fair?” “As fair as the day, with golden hair and blue eyes.” “Then she resembles you.” Nadia gave a scornful little laugh. “My eyes are light blue; hers are of a lovely, dark azure and shine like stars. At a distance our hair may seem alike, but look closer. Mine is straw-coloured tow; hers woven sunbeams and as soft as silk. But the way she arranges it! She must be very much afraid of the Czar.” “Why so?”