“How so?” I answered, quite astonished. “Then you also confess that he is an impostor?” “Do not ask who he is,” mysteriously answered the Princess; “afterwards you shall learn all; the time has not yet come. He has already conquered many towns--Kasan, Orenburg, Saratov--and all the shores of the Volga. I know nothing of his past. Let God be his judge; but I--I am really and truly the daughter of the Empress Elizabeth, and cousin to the Emperor Peter III.” “But who was your father?” I ventured to ask. “Is it possible that you do not guess?” she answered, slightly frowning. “Alexis Razoumovski, who was married secretly to my mother. My childhood I passed travelling from one place to another; but it is quite indistinct even to me. I remember a retired little village in the South of Russia, from which I was carried off. They would, if they could, have effaced from my mind every remembrance of the past; and to that end they lavished money upon me and took me about from place to place. Count Shouvaloff, apparently, was acquainted with the circumstances. Not long ago, when travelling in Europe, he expressed the wish to see me, and we met secretly.” “What! you saw the Count Shouvaloff? Where?” I exclaimed, amazed, as I recollected that not a few people looked upon him as her father. “I met him at the waters of Spa.… Friends warned me of that celebrated Russian traveller, but I could not refuse him. I found him to be an elderly person, rather stout, and bearing traces of no common beauty. His dress was most costly. He came to me under an assumed name, and when speaking with me sorrowfully fixed his eyes upon me and attentively examined my features. I could see he was very agitated. I learned afterwards that he was my late mother’s favourite, Ivan Shouvaloff. I really cannot tell why he looked so moved. It is not for me, of course,--as you may well understand,--to say. That secret my mother took to her grave, with many others.” The Princess was silent; I also. “Whose protection, whose help, do you seek?” I at last ventured to ask, troubled with so many impressions. CHAPTER VI. _THE PRINCESS ASKS ME TO ASSIST HER._ The Princess locked the paper in a casket, put it away, took up a fan, and again sitting down, began looking out of the window. “Are you willing to help me?” she asked very seriously, instead of answering my question. I knew not what to answer. “Are you willing to give me, should I need it, every help in your power?” “But what sort of help?”