The outbreak must be general throughout the empire. The threads are in Zeneida's hands. The artiste has retired from the stage. Moreover, the opera is closed during the summer months in St. Petersburg, and she will not again appear as a member of the Imperial Opera Company, but will give a concert for a charitable purpose in the course of the autumn. The day was to be publicly announced in official papers ten days previously. When the announcement, therefore, appeared that "Fräulein Ilmarinen would sing for the benefit of the Orphanage" on such and such a date the conspirators would know that this was the day fixed for the rebellion. The government organ would itself spread the word throughout the empire. Thus in her hand are the shears which shall sever the fatal thread; and the grave foreknowledge of all that it must bring with it is oppressing her spirit. The rebellion is unavoidable; no one will longer bear the heavy burden; from ragged mujik to titled magnate, all are yearning to burst the yoke, and the Kalevaines have more reason to weep than their fellows. But what is to happen to the imperial pair in the outbreak? Both have been such kind protectors to Zeneida. The palace had been a home to her. How will it be possible to save their lives without proving a traitor to their cause? And then a second trouble--Pushkin. True, he had promised her he would withdraw his name from "the green book"; but, when giving the promise, he had thought he would have the daughter of the Czar to wife. That is over now, and Pushkin has no further reason to withdraw from the Northern Union. He, too, is in possession of the conspirators' plans; there is not a doubt but that as soon as he reads the announcement that Zeneida will sing for the benefit of the Orphanage he will appear that day in St. Petersburg, even he must leave Paradise itself to be there. How is she to hinder this without casting the slur of cowardice upon Pushkin? The delights of love alone would not be strong enough to hold him back--a yet stronger motive must be found. And she paces backward and forward under the trees in the dusk; in her soul reign the same discords which disturb the brilliant night, and she seeks in vain some quieting thought. The Czar has grown melancholy; the Czarina is sick unto death; they live but for each other; have shut themselves up from the world. Their example is contagious. Even Prince Ghedimin has become reconciled to his wife, and no longer visits Zeneida. St. Petersburg society has scattered itself among the forty islands of the Neva. Every one lives to himself; all social life is extinct. Every visitor is looked upon suspiciously by the host as one of Araktseieff's spies. There is an oppressive calm over everything. People do not even write to each other any more. They tremble at the black inquisition.