With the month of June springtide returned to St. Petersburg. Sophie Narishkin's room was a mass of lilies-of-the-valley, her favorite flower. Every vase, every available space was filled with them. With the more favorable season her health seemed to be re-established. She could now walk across the room without support, and began to think more about food than medicines. She even began to speculate on being taken to court balls in the winter. One of her aunts was to chaperon her in society; perhaps she might even be allowed to dance a minuet. She was constantly sending for Bethsaba to hear what a court ball was like. The king's daughter had already attended one. One day, after the Czar's return from the inspection, Bethsaba came to see Sophie. "Oh, your room is quite full of lilies-of-the-valley! Who sent them to you?" "Who else than father?" Sophie had no secrets from Bethsaba. She openly called the Czar "father" to her. "Has he been here?" "Yes; all last evening. It was a very sad one. I begin to feel quite afraid of him." "Did you do anything to vex him?" "Oh no! It is his great love for me which makes me begin to feel frightened of him. When he stands so long, looking silently at me, my hands in his, I feel as if I cannot endure the silence; then I ask him, 'What is it, father? What is grieving you?' And he answers, 'My grief is that I have no one to whom I can tell my troubles.' 'Can so great a man as you have any trouble for which there is no help?' Then, pointing to his heart, he said, 'Here is the trouble!' Upon which I coaxed him, and begged him to tell me all his trouble. Who could tell--perhaps even my childish simplicity might find a way to heal or lessen his sorrows? Then he drew me again to his heart, laid my head on his shoulder, and said, 'I am ill, Sophie; and there is no physician in the wide world to whom I can tell my ailment. There is something weighing on my heart, and there is no confessor to whom I can confess it. By night my dreams make me tremble; by day, my thoughts. I dread solitude, and I dread mankind. I know that no one loves me; I know that I am condemned.' 'By whom?' 'By God and man. Every one flatters me; only that which beats within me tells me the truth and accuses me.' 'And does not this, too, that beats within me tell the truth?' I cried; 'and does it not live, love, and worship you? Let those two hearts of ours fight it out together!' Then he embraced me, and whispered, 'Be it so. There is no one on whom I have wrought such ill as you. Why should I not confess to you? You are my martyr; if you can give me absolution, I am indeed absolved.' And kneeling before me, he said, oh! such sorrowful words, 'Look! I ascended the throne over my father's body. _I accepted the crown at the hands of his murderers_, and placed it upon my head. I wept no tears when I heard of his death; I felt relieved. I had no longer to dread his wrath, for he had parted from me in anger. On how many a battle-field have I since