The tarok-players had perceived nothing of what had passed. It had been a fearful battle that had been fought at this table. Alexander Sergievitch had lost a "solo" with Quint Major, _tous les trois_. It was a thorough defeat. "Two kings in my hand, and both taken--a hundred thousand devils!" swore Alexander Sergievitch. "Yes, those kings," boasted the postmaster, proud of his achievement. "We beat every one of those kings!" "What!" began Chevalier Galban. "You beat kings? Upon my word! A thorough republican movement!" The postmaster's interest in the game was so sensibly diminished by this speech that he proposed adjourning, and the exciting game came to an end. Pushkin accompanied his guests to their sledges, then returned to Chevalier Galban. "Well, how did your game go with my little one?" "I was thoroughly thrashed. She played with me like a cat with a mouse. From whom did she learn to play such a capital game?" "What, chess? Our dear Sophie Narishkin was her teacher. They used to play together every day." But that was not the case. It was not Sophie, but Zeneida, who had taught the "little one" this game. This time it had been the mouse playing with the cat to her heart's content. CHAPTER XLIX THE ANTIDOTE Lovely, sunny December days followed on the past arctic weather, with its snow-storms. Chevalier Galban returned home, having received a promise from Pushkin to make him a return visit very soon. Post traffic was resumed; that is, communication by means of sledging was once more practicable. The official newspaper outdid itself in dulness. But at the end of the so-called news of the day was an announcement to the effect that "_on December 26th Fräulein Ilmarinen would sing in the Imperial Exchange for the benefit of the Orphanage_!" The concert was announced eight days in advance, in order that all who desired to attend should have due notice. Pleskow to St. Petersburg is two good days' journey. Allowing for the time for post to reach, Pushkin had six days' notice. Bethsaba, too, read the announcement, and said: "Oh dear! How I should like to be there, to hear my dear Zeneida sing!" Her heart was filled with dread. She, too, knew full well--Zeneida had told her--what this concert and this singing heralded. From that moment Pushkin was utterly changed--morose, melancholy. Bethsaba read in his face as in an open book. Had she not had the key to the hieroglyphics from Zeneida? She knew exactly what Pushkin was brooding over; she knew perfectly well that "Eleutheria" was the name of his old love. And she concentrated all her love upon him to hold him fast.