Was it such an unheard-of thing for men, renowned statesmen, to forget, in their domestic happiness, an appointment they had made with friend or enemy on the battle-field? How often it had happened that great men, when once they had learned to know "the little world of love," had been fain to think how good it was to be "little" men! What happy people Lilliputians must be! Vain endeavor! For two whole days Pushkin fought with himself; then told Bethsaba that he must leave home on December 24th. Bethsaba never asked whither, nor for how long; she only said, "And you are not taking me with you?" "No, love. It would be impossible for you to travel in this cold weather; the roads are so bad." "But not too bad for you! Can you not put off this journey?" "Impossible!" returned Pushkin, irritably. The tone in which he spoke forbade further question. Bethsaba saw that the hour of the dreaded danger had come. The poison was already working in his veins. An antidote must be administered. Going to her room, she wrote to Chevalier Galban: "Alexander Sergievitch is making preparations for a journey very shortly. I await your answer." This significant letter she gave to a footman, with instructions to convey it to its address as fast as a sledge would take him. After their conversation, Pushkin, seeing that his moroseness betrayed him, forced himself to be in high spirits. His friends said they had never seen him so merry. Bethsaba alone was not deceived. At last came the morning of the dreaded day. Both rose early, that Pushkin might not be late in starting. Just as he was getting into his fur coat, Bethsaba, throwing herself on his breast, said, tremblingly: "I cannot let you go without confessing a sin which I have committed against you." "Against me? What can that be?" "I have been jealous." "About this journey?" "Yes." "You are a little goose! Are you always going to be jealous when I go away for a day or two?" "Only this time. I had been told that you were going to visit your old love, and that is why you wanted to go alone." "Was it Galban who gave you this information?" "He said so when he was here. I asked him the lady's name. He answered me he would tell it me _if I asked it again_. When I saw you making ready for departure, jealousy revived in me in all its strength. I lost my judgment. Kill me! Trample me underfoot! I wrote to Galban, entreating him to tell me the name of her for love of whom my husband was leaving me, and asked him to prove to me in writing the statement he had made by word of mouth. Read what he answers." And she gave him Galban's letter. As Pushkin read the letter to the end the world seemed to swim in blood before his eyes. "ADORED LADY,--If you would possess the desired document, deign to visit my modest dwelling; I cannot intrust it to strange hands. Your ever-faithful slave, "GALBAN."