The house of Juani was very solitary; it was built quite apart, between a yard and a not very large but very shady garden. I went up to the door and raised the knocker. First I saw at the window, which was framed in creeping vines, the maid of the Princess, daughter of a Prussian captain, Francis Mecèdès, and after her the secretary of the Princess, whom I had seen at Ragusa, Charnomski. “From whom?” asked the latter timidly, looking at me from behind the half-open door. I hardly knew him again. Where was his _aplomb_--his foppery? where had it disappeared? His clothes were half worn out, his hair was uncurled, there was no rouge on his cheeks, and he wore only the commonest and cheapest of ear-rings! “From Count Orloff,” answered I. “Have you a letter?” “Yes; but let me in.” “Have you a letter?” repeated the secretary, already taking an insolent and bragging tone. “Yes, in the writing of the count himself,” answered I, handing him the letter. Charnomski tore it out of my hands, glanced at the German superscription, and, quite bewildered, slowly retreated, and disappeared. After a few minutes the door was quickly opened, and I was let in. “Ah! _mille pardons!_” said Charnomski, bowing very low; “now just fancy, I didn’t know you again in your uniform, you are so changed. Welcome, thrice welcome, long-expected and wished-for guest!” He turned and twisted and smirked so much that I could not help at once pitying and laughing at him. The Princess received me in a very small room, the windows looking out on to the silent and deserted garden. There were now no splendid damask walls, no gilt furniture, no bronze--in one word, not one of the luxuries which there had been at Ragusa. She herself, the Grand-duchess Elizabeth Tarakanova, Princess Wladimirskaya, Dame D’Azow--she who had captivated the Shah of Persia and German princes--was now lying ill on a leathern sofa, a blue velvet mantilla thrown over her, and her feet encased in fur slippers. The room was cold and damp. A log of wood was flickering dimly in the fireplace, shedding no warmth anywhere. I did not recognise the Princess. Her thin and wan face, with the hectic flush in each cheek, seemed more lovely than ever. Her eyes smiled, but they were not the same; they reminded me of the eyes of a beautiful wild fawn, mortally wounded, escaping the chase, but feeling that her end is near. “Ah! you are come at last!” said she timidly, smiling. “You have brought the answer to my letter from the count.… I have read it.… Thank you.… What have you to tell me?” “The count is your most obedient servant,” answered I, repeating the words that had been said to me. “He is quite at your service and at your feet.” The Princess rose. Arranging her beautiful fair wavy hair, which she wore without powder, she put out her hand with a timid, friendly gesture. I ventured to raise it to my lips.