"There are dark clouds on the horizon," said Paul on one occasion; "our little Corporal threatens to fasten his fingers about the throat of your big Emperor; we shall soon be _en route_ for Moscow. Be sure that I shall seek out your fiancé; it shall be my first act upon reaching Moscow. Is your fiancé soldier or bourgeois?" "A soldier and a splendid fencer!" said Vera, looking out of the window and far away. "Good," said Paul; "I would rather fight a man than kill a sheep." "I think you will never come to Moscow, and I pray God you may not," said Vera; "that would be a disaster indeed." "I promise you it should be a disaster for your fiancé," said Paul; but it is probable that she heard nothing of what he said; her mind was entirely absorbed by this new and overwhelming idea: that Napoleon threatened Moscow--the holy city of her own race. "It is not a real danger?" she asked. "What, this that your fiancé must run? Indeed, it is a very real danger." "No, no--this war you speak of--this horrible quarrel of the two nations." "They say that Napoleon has almost made up his mind; already the conscription is in full swing; Russia may yield, of course; if she does not, Moscow will be a French city by this time next year." "_Mon Dieu!_" exclaimed Vera, hiding her eyes in her two hands. "The French must wade through a sea of Russian blood before Moscow is reached--it is horrible, Monsieur, this thought of yours." "I did not invent it, Mademoiselle Vera; all the world will tell you that politics are to-day looking very darkly." This was true enough. Vera questioned her father presently upon the subject, and learned many things which caused her the greatest anxiety, for Vera was a patriotic Russian, and was well aware that war with France must end disastrously for her beloved country. She was French enough to feel that to be arrayed against the terrible Napoleon was to court certain defeat, so tremendous was the Emperor's reputation among his own people. With regard to private affairs, when Vera had explained to Paul that she was already a fiancée and must therefore refuse to listen to protestations of love, she had spoken the truth. Only lately Alexander Maximof had written to her. Maximof had heard wonderful reports from Paris of Vera's beauty and charm, and had congratulated himself that he had had the good sense to keep the contract of betrothal intact. It had only now occurred to him, however, that he had either neglected or forgotten to inform Vera that he had not destroyed the document, as agreed upon at their last interview, three years ago. Hence his letter to Paris at this time.