"I have done my best to spoil them. I have struck her heart a blow which will stop her love of intrigue for a while." "Let me be the first to enjoy your secret." "The lady's hero, Pushkin, is about to be despatched to Uralsk." "Do you think the girl will desert St. Petersburg and follow him?" "Either that, or she will commit some greater folly. Anyway, it will compel her to unmask." The Czar, after thanking and praising Zeneida, now began to make the round of the gentlemen; while the ladies to whom the Czarina desired to speak were called up to her. The Czar entered into conversation with some of the ambassadors, exchanged a few words with Miloradovics; then, passing over a number of the circle, looked about him, and, perceiving Pushkin, signed him to approach. All deferentially drew back. From the Czar and a culprit it is well to keep one's distance. All the same, every eye was fixed on the two. At this critical moment Pushkin felt himself singularly calm. He stood, in fact, as cold bloodedly before his imperial master as he would have done before any ordinary man. "So I hear you are not satisfied with your Censor?" asked the Czar. The very form of question he had addressed to Jakuskin! But Pushkin had a guardian angel--his Muse--who did not suffer him to remain silent and abashed. "As satisfied as one is with an illness, sire." "Do not bear him a grudge. He is a well-meaning man, but with certain old-fashioned notions. That is not his fault. I have read your poem; it is very fine. The Censor had struck out some portions; but that you did not allow?" "No, sire." "And do not allow their suppression?" "No, sire." "You are right. They are the best passages in the whole poem. But what are we to do about it? I cannot go against the Censor; for were I to permit what he forbids, the whole institution would be overturned; and it is a necessary one. What do you think?" "Sire, I will take back my poem and burn it." "No, no. I think we will send it to Leipsic, have it printed there, and then import it." "And the frontier custom-house, sire?" asked Pushkin. The Czar smiled; nay, he laughed--he laughed aloud. "We will have it packed in among my own personal things, which are not examined in the customs. Thus will we bring the poem into the country." Pushkin trembled in every limb, like a schoolboy who has undergone an examination. "Stay a moment!" exclaimed the Czar. "It will be more profitable to your poetical studies were you to prosecute them in the country. It will be better for you to pass the summer on your estate of Pleskow. You will find you can write better there." That meant the restoration of his confiscated estate. Moved to tears, Pushkin's voice failed. "Tell no one of what has passed between us. I do not wish it spread abroad." "Only to one woman, sire, whose silence is as perfect as is her singing." "She knows it already," returned the Czar, with a smile. He had smiled twice.