Charnomski took from his breast pocket a letter, and handed it to me. “That is her only request,” he repeated, bowing again, and insinuatingly looking me in the face, with a half-look of entreaty in his large grey eyes. After having thought it all over, I felt that I ought not to refuse, and I took the letter. My duty as an officer demanded that I should let the count know everything. He must decide what should be done; that would be his affair. “Very well,” answered I. “I do not know who your Princess is, but I undertake to deliver her letter in safety.” Having waited some time, I found an opportunity of sailing to my destination. I presented myself once more to the Princess, made my adieux, and left Ragusa. The very same day the Prince Radzivill gave, in honour of the Princess, his fairy-like and long-renowned fête. For a long time in Europe the newspapers could talk of nothing else. The extravagant and generous prince, madly in love with the Princess, had already been lavishing his wealth upon her, like an Indian nabob; but this time he surpassed himself. The fête lasted a long time; the most precious wines flowed like water. There was music, cannon were fired in the gardens, and a beautiful display of fireworks of more than 1,000 rockets astonished all the town. At the end of the feast, the knightly lover suddenly announced that the dances would continue till the morning, and that at dawn all the revellers, to refresh themselves, should see a real winter, and should drive home, not in carriages, but in sleighs. On the morrow, when the guests came out on the _perron_, the neighbouring streets were really quite white, and to all appearance covered with snow. During the night busy workers had spread a thick layer of salt over everything, and the joyous, noisy crowd of _masques_, amidst repeated salutes of cannon and the shouts of the newly-awakened citizens, were really driven home to the musical sound of the sleigh bells. I took my departure for Italy, puzzling my brain with various questions. “Was this Princess really the daughter of the Empress Elizabeth? Did she believe in the truth of what she said herself, or did she spread these rumours on purpose?” As far as I could remember the expression of her face, there appeared from time to time, especially in her eyes, something it seemed to me almost impossible to catch--a look of indecision, mingled with a gleam of hope. In taking with me her letter and the particulars I had learnt, I was prompted by feelings of duty, as an officer of Her Majesty Ekaterina, but I was half won over by pity for the Princess as a lovely and helpless woman. CHAPTER VIII. _I DELIVER A LETTER._