“Is Zénaïde Feodorovna Ramodanofsky,” returned Von Gaden. “She has inherited her mother’s beauty, and is more French than Russian.” “Is it possible that she can be either happy or safe in such guardianship?” I asked, my mind full of the pale and tearful face in front of the Cathedral of the Assumption. Von Gaden shook his head thoughtfully. “It is impossible to read the riddle of Vladimir’s conduct towards her,” he said. “If I thought the man had a conscience, I should say it was troubled with remorse, for he has always seemed just in his treatment of his niece. You know the Russian household is peculiar, but it is more liberal than in the days when the ‘Domotróï’[4] was composed, and the Ramodanofsky home had been Polish in aspect since the days of Feodor’s mother, and his wife had made it French. Zénaïde has been far better educated than the average Russian girl, and has had a Frenchwoman with her for many years; so she speaks Polish and French as readily as Russian. Until lately, there has been apparent accord between the uncle and niece; but now that the boyar is anxious to arrange a marriage for her, I hear that she has developed her father’s spirit, and is likely to resist her uncle’s authority, as no other Russian girl would dare to do. A young maid is an ill thing to guide!” Von Gaden added, with a smile. [Footnote 4: A manual of household economy of the time of Ivan the Terrible.] “I honor her for her resistance, since I believe I know the chosen bridegroom;” and I told the Jew of the scene in the Kremlin. “Viatscheslav Naryshkin?” said the physician, thoughtfully. “Yes, it may be so. Ramodanofsky is a close adherent of the Naryshkins. I think the Czarevna Sophia either knows or suspects something ill of him. You know she was much with the late czar, and learned all the little intrigues that had been handed down from her father’s court to that of Feodor. Viatscheslav is indeed an evil fate for a pure young girl like Zénaïde Feodorovna.” The fire was dying down, and we both sat staring at the embers, Von Gaden shading his face with his hand. “I have always wanted to set it right,” he said musingly; “I have always intended to do something. If I die now, the secret will not die with me.” “Was it of Feodor Ramodanofsky that Homyak spoke to-day?” I asked, suddenly remembering the conversation. The physician nodded. “I do not know what Homyak had to do with it,” he said, “but he has an evil conscience; some day he will confess.” CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOWS ON THE WALL.