“It appears that the old boyar, who is, as you may have divined, of an amiable disposition, intended to marry his beautiful niece to Viatscheslav Naryshkin this morning,” replied Miloslavsky. “He had the sanction of the czarina; but it transpires that he forgot to consider the feelings of Zénaïde Feodorovna, and lo and behold, this morning her apartments are vacant, and she and her French governess have flown! The priest and Viatscheslav were ready, but the bride had vanished, and there is the sound of lamentation in the gentle boyar’s palace; it is even rumored that he has murdered a lackey or two and roasted a maid, because of their failure to detect and report the movements of his ward. The bridegroom is, of course, inconsolable; and, a word with you, M. le Vicomte, it will not be wise to irritate his gentle temperament to-day.” This last was addressed to me in an aside. I glanced at Larion keenly, but could not read his meaning in his face; I was sure of only one thing,--that they knew more than they would divulge, and that, in some mysterious way, my connection with the affair had been whispered about. I was not surprised at Miloslavsky’s tone in speaking of Ramodanofsky, for I knew that all that faction detested him. I endeavored to turn the conversation away from myself. “I can scarcely fancy Viatscheslav as a forlorn lover,” I said lightly; “I imagine he can easily console himself.” “It is not the loss of his lady-love which troubles him,” replied Miloslavsky, “but the mortification of such a defeat, and at the hands of an inexperienced girl.” “Picture to yourself his feelings, M. de Brousson,” said one of the other young nobles; “he has fancied himself an irresistible gallant, and here is a young bride running from him as from the plague. It is the rarest joke upon him, and he takes it ill enough. Look at his scowl; it has been gathering like a thunderstorm all the morning.” Following the young fellow’s glance, I beheld Viatscheslav standing in his former position, and lowering at us as if he knew that he was the subject of our discussion. The man’s surly face struck me with a new horror, and I understood Zénaïde’s desperation.