The word “Tarakanovka” made me shudder in spite of myself. It sounded to me like a voice of the past. It reminded me of my far-off childhood, of our own little manor, Konsovka, and my late grandmother, Agraffena Vlassovna, who had known much of the past and present court; of the wonderful luck which had fallen to the lot of the shepherd of Lemechevski, who unexpectedly had become, instead of the singer, Aloshki Razouma,[18] a count, and the privately married husband of the empress; of the accession to the throne of the new empress; of the attempt of Merovitch, and of many other events. Through him my grandfather, Irakli Konsov, who was a neighbour of the Razoumovskis in the village Lemesha, was loaded with favours, rose in his service, and died in a very high position. I remembered another very hazy circumstance. I went once with my grandmother to a name’s-sake day party given by some relations. Our road lay across a village near Baturin, the residence of the Hetman[19] Kiryl Razoumovski. It was a lovely and calm summer’s evening, and we were talking together, grandmother and I. From the open carriage, on both sides of the road, in the twilight we could see the weeping willows, and, scattered here and there between them, the white cottages and windmills, and above the willows and the cottages the church steeple. My grandmother, musing quietly, crossed herself, and then thoughtfully, gently, as if to herself, all at once pronounced the word “Tarakanchic.”[20] “What did you say, grandmother?” I asked. “Tarakanchic.” “What is that?” “Well, I will tell you, _mon ange_,” she answered. “Here, a long time ago, in this same village, lived a mysterious person--a lovely, graceful, and fair child, as fair as a lily; but she did not stay long, and where she disappeared to no one knows.” “But who was it?” asked I. “Red Riding Hood,” answered my grandmother, lowering her voice. “I suppose, as in the fairy tale, the cruel wolves have eaten poor Tmoutarakanovka.”[21] My grandmother after this spoke no more, and I, believing the wolves had really eaten the child, forbore to ask any more questions. But now I clearly remembered that lovely green and willowy Tarakanovka and the mysterious tale of my grandmother. That century was rich in fairy-like lore, and one might be pardoned for believing in all sorts of miracles. “Well, have you decided, sir?” broke in Charnomski, seeing that, lost in thought, I was silent. “Explain to me just what the Princess expects of me.” “Only one thing, sir lieutenant, only one thing,” answered the wily envoy, getting up and bowing. “To take this letter of the Princess to Count Orloff; that is the only thing she asks of you.… Tell the count how and where you met the Russian Grand Duchess Elizabeth, and with what impatience she awaits his answer to her first letter and manifesto. On the result of your mission depends her further course of action and her departure for the Sultan’s court.”