"Oh, _droog moy_, let us remember it to our everlasting gaiety; let us remember also how you had no leisure to be presented to your little fiancée; she was too young and too ugly, and Mademoiselle Kornilof was at the same time so fascinating; and oh, _mon Dieu_, the conceit of the good-looking cadet whom poor I was obliged to adore from afar!" "Ah, you did not adore me, that is not true, _dooshá moyá_; come, confess that at that moment you detested me!" "Perhaps I tried to think so; but there was a something deep down in my heart that was certainly not hatred. It has lurked there ever since. If you had shown a liking for me that day, it might never have existed, but when you gave me the cold shoulder it came and with it a kind of determination that you should repent in sackcloth and ashes; that you should sue----" "Little tyrant! you exacted a terrible revenge! Oh, the hours of misery you have caused me, you and your French admirers." "Ah! poor Paul!" "Frankly, Vera, were you ever near to loving him?" "Never so near as when he befriended you on the battlefield." Sasha's fingers closed tightly over his companion's arm. He had never thought it necessary to inform Vera that Paul had very nearly killed him before befriending him, nor did Vera ever learn that it was he who had dealt the blow which went so near to widowing her heart for ever. Vera was much observed at this time. She was more beautiful than ever. Sorrow and suffering had added something to her loveliness. Her story was known to most of those present and rendered her an interesting personality, for the Russian dearly loves a romantic tale. This afternoon there were many lips that told of the baby-betrothal of these two, of Vera's Parisian experiences, of her patriotism, of her finding and nursing the Russian lover, her childhood's fiancé, and of his triumph over all rivals, French and otherwise. Even the Tsar, when at last he made his triumphal entry into the hall and had received the laurel tribute prepared for him and listened to the splendid soulful rendering of the National Anthem, presently noticed the beautiful girl in constant attendance upon young Count Maximof, whom he knew. "Who is she?" he asked--"she is beautifully dressed--one would say she was French--but her face is Russian, of our loveliest type." "It is the daughter of Demidof, your Majesty's envoy at present at the Court of Sweden," the Tsar was informed. "What, the beautiful Russian maiden who was said to have inflamed the hearts of half the youth of Paris?" the Tsar laughed. "Has she then decided, at last, in favour of a Russian admirer?"