"See how badly you are holding that plate! Did one ever hear of placing the spoon betwixt knife and fork like that? No, the salt must be turned out upon the table; it is not to be put on the table in the salt-cellar; for if the salt-cellar should happen to be upset it is unlucky. You must not stick in the point of the knife when you are cutting bread! First make the sign of the cross over it, or Heaven will be angry. To think that such a big man should be so clumsy!" Meanwhile Helenka had brought in the Lenten soup. Sophie tasted it, then laid her spoon down. "There is something different about it. You have smuggled some meat into it. I will not eat it! You wanted to deceive me! You wanted to make me eat meat soup!" The Czar, tasting the soup, assured her that it had no taste of meat. But the sick girl, angry at the mere suspicion of being tricked, sent all away untouched, and vowed she would eat nothing but sweets. The Czar implored her not to spoil her digestion with such trash; whereupon, bursting into tears, she complained that they would let her die of hunger. At length the Czar, sending for the samovar, made her some tea with his own hands, and, breaking some biscuit into it, begged her to try it. And great was his joy when she said it was "very nice." She ate a whole biscuit; dipped another in it, ate a piece of it, and gave the rest to the Czar for him to taste how good it was. Then, letting him take her upon his knee, she laid her head upon his shoulder, and seemed inclined to sleep. Soon she asked him to carry her to bed and unplait her hair; then, winding her fingers in the Czar's, she said her evening prayer; and when it came to "Amen" her virgin soul seemed to breathe itself away upon the Czar's lips. She was the sole being in the world he could call his own! Among his forty millions of subjects she alone belonged exclusively to him. The Czar of All the Russias found so many little things still to do for his sick child. There was a cushion to be warmed to be placed at her feet; orange-flower water to be prepared for her night drink. He pushed a branch of consecrated palm under her pillow to chase away bad dreams--he, a philosopher, believing in the efficacy of a consecrated palm branch! But philosophy is nowhere by the sick-bed of one's child. "Now, you go home," whispered Sophie; "Bethsaba is to sleep with me. Good-night. I know I shall have no bad dreams." "Lay your hand upon my head, that I, too, may sleep well. Good-night." They called one another by no endearing names, though they knew that in the whole wide world they had no one but each other. It was past midnight when the Czar went back to his sledge--too early to go home. "Drive along Newski Prospect," said the Czar.