“I’ll accept every torment, even death, Sir Marshal; I’ll accept everything,” said the captive. “But you are mistaken.… Nothing can make me withdraw my evidence.” “Think over it.…” “God is my witness.… My torments will fall on the heads of my tormentors.” “She’ll think over it, your Grace!” whispered Oushakoff, turning over some papers. “One more experiment. She’ll come round all right.” The experiment was tried. Her Venetian silk nightdress was exchanged for one of sackcloth. “Almighty God! be witness of my most secret thoughts,” prayed the captive. “What am I to do, what shall I undertake? I believed in my past. It all seemed so plain. I was accustomed to think of it all, to live in that idea. Neither the treason of that monster, nor my captivity, has been able to shake my conviction. No, and not even this iron dungeon, which seems to crush me, can do that. Death is not far off. Oh! Mother of God, oh! lowly Jesus, help me. Who will give me strength, who will guide me, who will save me--from all these horrors, from this prison?” * * * * * One cold rainy evening, a hired carriage with the blinds drawn down drove up to the _perron_ of the commandant of the fortress of Petropavlovski, André Gavrilovitch Tchernishoff. Half an hour afterwards, Orloff and the commandant walked in the direction of the Ravelin Alexéef. “Failing,” said the commandant, walking on, “failing rapidly, especially with this dampness. Yesterday, your Grace, she begged for her own clothes and books; they were returned to her.” The sentinels were called out of the room of the Princess. Orloff entered the room alone. Tchernishoff remained outside the door. In the dusk, the count could hardly see the low-ceilinged room, with two deeply set windows with thick iron gratings. Between the two windows stood a small table with two chairs. A few books were scattered on the table together with some other things, and, covered with a coarse cloth, stood the untouched food. On the right-hand side stood a screen. Behind the screen was a small table with a water-bottle, a glass, and a cup, and surrounded by chintz curtains, a small iron bedstead. On the bed, in a white dressing gown and cap, lay a girl, so pale, one might think she was dead, covered with a blue velvet mantilla.