“One little, two little, three little, four little, five little Russian boys!” chanted Piotr, counting on his fingers as he stood in the window recess of his aunt Tatiana’s boudoir. Outside the sun was shining bravely on the tender spring verdure of Tsarsköe-Seloe, one of the most delicious _villegiaturas_ in the immediate neighborhood of Petersburg. Behind him towered Garrassime, whose thick hair had during the last few months turned from dusky iron to silver, and in whose faithful eyes dwelt an unconquerable pain. “I say, Garrassime,” cried Piotr, interrupting his game, “there’s going to be a review! The soldiers are coming to camp at Krétovsky--the tall ones you know--with the big sabers and the long cloaks. Won’t that be jolly? Cousin Andrei-Andreitch is a captain there!” “Of the _Gardes-à-Cheval_, my little dove. Yes!” replied Garrassime, gently stroking the chestnut locks straying across the boy’s forehead; “yes, my lambkin, it will be jolly for you.” “And for you, too, Garrassime,” the child declared. “I’ve noticed you don’t like this place as well as Tverna, or is it because you miss papa? I miss papa. Oh, so much!--not mamma, she was always so nasty. Don’t you think she was nasty, Garrassime?” “Hush, hush, little Highness! You should not say that!” Poor Garrassime in the bitterness of his heart could have wept aloud. “And why not?” questioned the miniature tyrant he worshiped. “It is true. She is never like Aunt Tatiana, nor Aunt Nàstia--nor my little darling Malou, either. Where is my little darling Malou, Garrassime? Do send for her to come and play with me as we did at Plenhöel on the pebbles. Why can’t you?” His straight brows quivered as he raised those brilliant eyes of his to his patient attendant. “Why can’t he what?” Tatiana de Salvières asked, entering from the veranda door in her quick, resolute way. “Send for my little darling Malou!” stoutly responded Piotr. “I am Prince Pierre Palitzin. Why should not people do my bidding?” “You are Prince Dourák Palitzin,” laughed the Duchess, “when you speak like that. Yes, Prince ‘Donkey’ Palitzin, and that adds no grace to the name. Do your bidding indeed, illustrious Sir! Wait until the littlest ones are not able to eat their soup off your head before you assume command of us all.” With immense dignity Piotr drew himself up. “I am very tall for my age,” he gravely declared. “Cousin Pavlo was saying it only this morning.” “Cousin Pavlo is my son, Piotr, so I know that he often speaks great nonsense. Still, you are tallish for your age, and especially old enough to understand that you can’t always have your own way.” “About little darling Malou, you mean, Aunt Tatiana?” “About her, if you like, and about many other things, too. She, for instance, is not in Russia, so how could she play with you?”