The czarevna answered me. “Tidings came to us, M. le Vicomte,” she said, “and Prince Galitsyn arrived here in time to beat back the rabble and save Zénaïde Feodorovna and the other women. It was a band of Streltsi infuriated because Ramodanofsky had deceived them into believing him to be one of themselves; they fancied that he had been playing the part of a spy.” “And your Highness came also?” I said, wondering. “I came to protect you, M. le Vicomte, as the envoy of the King of France,” she replied. At the sound of my voice, Ramodanofsky turned his eyes in our direction, and I heard him ask the physician if I would recover, receiving an affirmative answer. Sophia turned to him now, with an unusual kindness in her manner. “You must recover also, Feodor Sergheievitch,” she said cheerfully; “we cannot afford to lose a newly-found subject.” The boyar looked at her sadly, and evidently made a strong effort to speak. “It is too late, your highness,” he said; “my life was not worth much at best, for it has been spent in prison and in exile until my strength was broken and my hopes were dashed forever. I had but the fragment to offer you, and that has been sacrificed.” Sophia’s face changed. She showed, in that moment, more feeling than I had believed that she possessed. “It is my regret, Feodor Sergheievitch,” she said kindly, “that you should have suffered this injustice; it was my intention to make some reparation.” He looked at her intently, and those stern eyes of his glowed in his white face. “Sophia Alexeievna,” he said solemnly, “you are called to a high trust, and I charge you, never send a man to exile or to prison without being absolutely convinced of his guilt. It is a cruel thing--a cruel thing. I look back upon my blasted life and see no light.” He spoke with passionate feeling, and Galitsyn, bending over, touched his hand with mute sympathy. Zénaïde was kneeling beside the couch, her face hidden in his robe. The dying man looked down upon her golden head, and an expression of pain crossed his features; then looking up, his eyes met mine. “M. le Vicomte,” he said, his voice very weak now, “I remember your suit, and with the czarevna’s permission I will intrust my daughter to your keeping.” I saw Sophia start, and Galitsyn looked up quickly. I was stretched there helpless, unable to rise, but I looked back at the boyar. “I will prove worthy of your trust, so help me Heaven!” I said firmly. Ramodanofsky read Sophia’s thoughts. “Gracious lady,” he said, making a strong effort to speak, “I know that Zénaïde, as the heiress of my estates, should be your ward, her hand at your disposal; but it is my desire that she shall wed Philippe de Brousson, one of her mother’s countrymen. He has signified his willingness to accept her hand without any dower but my wife’s estate in France. In her name, I surrender to the czar the lands and estates in Russia, asking only your permission that she shall marry as I desire.”