“All the tales of her past life are so strange,” said I, “so much like a fairy-tale--Siberia, poison, escape from Persia, correspondence with all the crowned heads of Europe--that I have conscientiously acted as a faithful servant of the empress, looked well about me, as I cannot, I must say, hide my doubts.…” “Agreed,” said the count, “Of course, you can look at it in two ways; but the most important fact is that _she_ is known of at St. Petersburg. They have written to me about her, speaking of her as a ‘vagabond,’ who has taken to herself a name and genealogy to which she has no right.” The count was silent for some time. “H’m! nice vagabond!” added he, as if to himself. “Puzzling, of course. Let it be so; I do not dispute it.… But why have they decided on exacting her extradition? and, in case it should be refused, on taking her by force, even if it is necessary to bombard the citadel of Ragusa? No one acts like that with a common vagabond. Such a person you just catch--a stone on the neck and in the water.” I felt as if cold water were running down my back at these words of the count. I vividly remember that eventful June day.… “Well, what, old man--you see yourself it’s no vagabond--what do you think about it? No, straight out with it, hide nothing.” CHAPTER IX. _WE WILL BEFRIEND HER._ The words of the count filled me with astonishment. Involuntarily I remembered then the intelligence the Princess had given me of the fallen favours of the Orloffs, of the exile of the late favourite to Revel, and of the rising fortunes of their enemies. Was it grief, was it passion which blinded the count? or did he really believe in the descent of the Princess? I really did not know, but I could clearly see that he was not throwing his words to the winds, and that a great struggle was taking place in his heart. “Excuse my impertinence, Your Grace,” said I impatiently, “but if you bid me, I’ll hide nothing from you. The person I saw, I must say, resembles very much the late Empress Elizabeth. Who does not know the portrait of that empress? The same imposing profile, the white, delicate complexion, the same dark arched eyebrows, the same majestic figure, and, more important than all,--the same eyes. I cannot help relating to you what my late grandmother in Oukraine told me about the relatives of the Razoumovskis.” “Ah! bah! But yourself, Konsov--you are from Baturin!” excitedly said the count. “Well, well, and what did your grandmother tell you?” I told him all I knew about Daraganovka, and about the mysterious child who had once lived there. “Ah! that’s where this Tarakanovka comes from,” said the count. “True! true! Yes! yes! I remember now I heard something about a Tmoutarakanski[26] princess.” He rose from the bench. I could see that he was very much agitated. Crossing his hands behind his back, and with his head hanging down, he began walking backwards and forwards on the garden path. I respectfully followed him at a little distance.