"By the garden veranda. You know that I have the key." And now it occurs to Korynthia that that other, to whom she had given the duplicate, may even now be coming. "Did you fasten the door?" "No, for in five minutes I must be off again." "But I beg you to fasten the door, and leave your key on the inside. You know how terrified I am of thieves." "All right. I'll go back and close it." During his brief absence Korynthia wrapped herself in a thick shawl. She did not need the pretext of cold; she was shivering with agitation. The Prince returned. "I must briefly tell you that I come from the Czar." "Indeed! And not from Fräulein Zeneida's soirée?" "No, my love. I come from the Czar and Czarina." "Of course, if you say so." "You will not doubt it when I tell you what I have witnessed." "Pray begin." Korynthia remains by the window to announce by the sound of voices to that other that she is not alone. "His Majesty has for the past two days repeatedly commanded me to his presence to deliberate certain matters of state; yet each time he has either been shut up in his room, and I have not been admitted, or if he has appointed me to go to him to Czarskoje Zelo, he has gone to the Hermitage. This evening I was commanded to Monplaisir. I traversed every room, right and left, until at length I found him on the upper veranda with the Czarina. Three times, four times, I saluted the Czar, but he took no notice of me. The Czarina signed to me to remain where I was. The Czar stood leaning against the marble parapet, motionless as a statue, his eyes fixed upon the Neva, the Czarina as fixedly, almost in fear, watching his eyes. Hundreds of boats were gliding over the smooth surface, crossing each other, shooting hither and thither. Suddenly a large barge came in sight, going down-stream, rowed in slow, rhythmic measure by eight boatmen. The barge was lighted by lamps fastened to poles; in the centre was a coffin, draped with a light-blue satin pall. In the open coffin lay a young girl in white funereal dress, a wreath of myrtle on her head. Round it stood choristers singing a funereal chant, which ascended to where the Czar stood: "'Ah, the day of tears and mourning, From the dust of earth returning, Man for judgment must prepare him.' There were none to follow the funereal barge. As it passed Monplaisir one could read conspicuously on the lid, placed beside the coffin, the name studded in gold nails--_Sophie Narishkin_. Yes, you may well draw your shawl about you, madame! It is cold, is it not?" The Prince had no idea of the effect of his words; he was still seeing what his memory had impressed upon him, not what was before him. He continued: