"Would you like to be his wife?" For all answer the girl looked at him with eyes opened wide and radiant expression. "Would you like to be his wife?" "What else could I desire? Poor little foundling as I am, I should be happy indeed to have such a prospect. And we would be so happy together. Aleko would not murder me for my faithlessness. But how can we let him know? So far, he has not had permission to come here." "From this time forth he shall." "But who can tell him?" "I, myself. I will bring him to you." "You are as good a father as in one of Bethsaba's fairy tales." "I will see myself to all the preparations, will arrange your dowry, settle the day, and command the Patriarch of Solowetshk here to celebrate the marriage." "Oh yes, in summer, when the roses are out. My bridal wreath shall be of real roses." "I will have your wedding ornaments made from this nugget of platinum. And now you really are as happy as I am, are you not?" "Oh, happier!" "And will you have this pink silk for your wedding-dress?" "You have just guessed my wish--that my wedding-dress should be pink. White makes one look pale, and I am pale enough without that." "This wine from the Amur we will drink at your wedding-breakfast." "And I too will taste it. We will drink to each other. 'As many drops in this goblet, so many years our love shall last!' Is not that the saying?" "Then you shall take up your residence on his estate. How strange that I should have just given him back his confiscated property! He shall have his ancestral castle put in order for you to live in, and I will come and visit you constantly." Sophie clapped her hands with delight, her pale cheeks aglow. Then suddenly the light in her eyes died away. "But is all this only joking?" "Joking? Do I ever joke with you?" "That Aleko should pay court to me, that you should give me to him for wife, that the Patriarch should marry us on a lovely day in the lovely month of roses. Is it not all a dream?" Alexander, instead of answering, took her in his arms and closed her mouth with kisses. Yes, poor child, it is real. The only unreal part of it is that before those roses shall have blossomed you will be-- Alexander commanded Pushkin to his presence that day, and made short work of the matter. "You have caused a young girl to fall in love with you. You must marry her. Her name is Sophie Narishkin. Wait upon me to-morrow evening at six o'clock. I will take you to her, that you may formally ask her hand. You will then visit her daily, and see that you endeavor to cause her no sorrow. Her life hangs on the slightest thread; that thread is in your hands. Beware that you are not the cause of her death." Pushkin was in a very awkward situation.