(The main reason, however, is that six feet of earth lie between her and the world.) "And the little princess, and the brunette countess, have they sent their usual congratulations to-day? And the Lieutenant-General's wife, who is so hard of hearing?" "The cards are all laid on the silver table, your Highness." "And you have acknowledged them in the customary manner?" "At once, your Highness." "You should have written in very large characters to the Lieutenant-General's lady, for she is so hard of hearing. Has the old beggar-woman come for the warm clothing? Was she glad to have it? Did she not prophesy good luck for this year? Is it not to be a comet year? Ah, there is no chance of that! Have you taken the grand duchesses their bouquets?" "I took them. They return their thanks." "Are neither of them married yet? Dear me! They must be of marriageable age now." (Both are long married--in their girlhood--to the white bridegroom, Death; but no one has ever told Anna Feodorovna this.) "How is the old man?" "As usual." "Does he make use of the Elizabeth pills I sent him against gout?" "Constantly." "Can he sleep at night?" "Sometimes, yes; sometimes, no." "Does he not grumble when it is new moon, or the wind blows?" "At times. But he soon calms down." "Of course, he always has that horrid pipe in his mouth, and sits in clouds of smoke like a charcoal-burner." "What else should he do?" "Wait a minute. Just take him these warm night-caps. I knitted them with red wool for the old man myself. He has always liked red caps. Tell him that I think of him, though he does not think of me. But what could he send me--tobacco ashes?" (Alas! the _old man_ has long become dust and ashes himself. He was Anna Feodorovna's husband, a martyr to gout, who did not see his wife once in a year, although they lived in the same house. Neither would visit the other. She could not endure a pipe; he could not live without it. One day he, too, found that his mausoleum in the Alexander Nevski Cathedral was a more peaceful resting-place than his bed; but he was interred so silently that his old wife did not know of his death, and continued to knit him his red night-caps.) "Where can Boysie be so long? My boy is surely not ill? It would be a fine thing if Boysie forgot me! I will give him a downright scolding for this." Hereupon Ihnasko had to calm his old mistress by telling her that "Boysie" had been called upon to attend an important council held by his Imperial Majesty the Czar. Most probably concerning some new grant of territory. That was quite another thing! Of course, Boysie was a grown-up man now--a man of thirty, and the owner of many an order set in brilliants. It is her grandson, the haughty, powerful Prince Ivan Maximovitch Ghedimin, whom his old grandmother still calls the "Boy."