Prince Ghedimin shrugged his shoulders, and, taking out his handkerchief, carefully brushed away traces of tears. It is certainly not worth while to run the risk of making one's own nose red for the troubles of other people. "All right. As it does not affect you, let us turn to something else. One other reason brought me here, which may perhaps interest you more. As I got into my gondola my steersman handed me a letter bearing on it 'Pressing.' The letter was from _Alexander Sergievitch Pushkin_." "Pushkin?" repeated Korynthia, in great agitation. "Yes; from Pushkin. And the purport of the letter being so extraordinary that my understanding could not grasp it at all, I hastened to you to beg you to solve the riddle." Korynthia felt the ground give way beneath her feet. "Pushkin!" she stammered. "What should I know of Pushkin's riddles?" "Listen. I will read the letter to you." And, in order to see better, the Prince now approached the open window, while Korynthia, retreating to the farther side of the room, sought to conceal her agitation. The Prince read: "'DEAR IVAN MAXIMOVITCH,--I find myself compelled with penitent heart to make you a confession. I have misused the high-minded confidence with which you laid open to me the sacred privacy of your home. Not as my excuse, but as a reason, I refer to my passion, which was stronger than the respect I owed to you. _I have stolen the dearest, most carefully guarded treasure of your house!_'" "Is the man mad?" thought Korynthia. "'If you desire to demand reparation for the affront, I shall be prepared to give you every satisfaction. You will find me in my country-seat at Pleskow. "'Yours most sincerely, "'PUSHKIN.'" The Princess was amazed. The extent of the treachery never even dawned upon her. "Well?" The Prince awaited an explanation. The best shield is cold-bloodedness, the best weapon a lie. With a shake of the head, Korynthia made answer: "But how does Herr Pushkin concern me? What have I to do with his mysteries?" "Naturally, our friend Alexander Pushkin's proceedings have no special interest for you, nor should I desire it. But in this letter another was enclosed, having on the outside, in what seems to be a lady's handwriting, 'Princess Korynthia Alexievna Maria Ghedimin.' Probably in this we shall find the solution of the mystery. On that account I must beg you to break the seal and communicate its contents to me--if you do not feel it desirable to keep them secret." It was now the Princess's turn to advance to the window, in order to read. No sooner had she the letter in her hand than she exclaimed, in surprise: "It is Bethsaba's handwriting!" "You know her handwriting? I have never seen it." Korynthia tore open the letter, and as she read her cheeks flamed. Then, crushing it in her hand, she cried, with hysterical laughter: