“The service I ask is trifling,” she said calmly, lying as coolly as I ever heard any woman lie in my life, for I knew that no man was summoned at that hour to the Kremlin for a trifle; but I forgave her the lie, for the sake of the grace with which she told it. “If your highness will instruct me as to the nature of the errand,” I began, stammering a little, for I was in a dilemma, not desiring to offend either faction, and knowing that I was treading on a mine which was liable to explode under the pressure of my heel. I thought that she was rather enjoying my discomfiture, for I saw a gleam of amusement in her alert eyes, and she had the most painfully alert glance that it has ever been my destiny to endeavor to evade. “M. le Vicomte,” she said with a smile, and an air of bland candor, “I know well that I am calling upon a stranger for a personal service, and that you do not owe me the allegiance of a subject; but,” she added with perfect grace of manner, “you are a French gentleman, and I know your reputation for gallantry; therefore consider me, monsieur, as only a woman asking a friendly service at your hands, and forget that I am a czarevna of Russia, and a sister of the unhappy czarevitch.” She could hardly have placed me in a more awkward predicament; I saw at once that a refusal would be a deadly offense, and I had heard that Sophia’s memory was long. There was no alternative but to meet the exigency with what grace I could summon to my aid. “It is too much honor,” I said, bowing low, and feeling that it was indeed a greater honor than I desired, “and I am sure that there can be no doubt of my readiness to serve your highness at all times.” “Alas, M. le Vicomte,” Sophia replied with a heavy sigh, “we scarcely know where to look for true friends now. The election of the younger czarevitch dashed our hopes to the ground, and we can but look with despair upon our elder brother, set aside in favor of a child of ten! In the hour of prosperity, friends are plentiful indeed; but when an ill wind blows, the ship is soon deserted. We poor orphans are indeed desolate. Therefore,” she added, with a sudden change from melancholy to graciousness, “we value more a token of your disinterested kindness. I will ask but a small service, monsieur; there is a little packet here that I would have delivered to-night, and I am at loss to find a trusty messenger. One of our own people might be apprehended, but you, M. de Brousson, could deliver it without hurt and without suspicion.”