The two girls arrived. The house of the priest became at once bright and lively. The sprightly gay Vârushka quite bewildered her uncle with news about his birthplace, their acquaintances, and journey adventures. Listening to her, Father Peter thought within himself, “How time flies! Is it so long ago that she was brought here, a wild, snub-nosed, and sulky little lass? and now--look at her, so sprightly, so gay, so clever! Yes, and her companion, she is a beauty! Those thick black braids, and what eyes! But quite in another style to my Vâra; so thoughtful, discreet, serious and proud!” After the first joyful questions and answers, the priest was obliged to celebrate the vesper service, and his visitors having hastily established themselves in the attic, took everything that was necessary, and started for the bath, accompanied by the cook. On returning home they established themselves in the corner by the fireside, and there Father Peter found them, as red as boiled lobsters, their heads tied up with coloured handkerchiefs, drinking tea. It was long past midnight when they at last rose to go to bed. “Well! my young lady, and where are the papers you have brought with you?” said Father Peter, rising. “It interests me also; what is it all about?” The girls began searching in their bundles, found the roll--on it was the inscription, “Diary of Lieutenant Konsov.” CHAPTER XXVI. _THE VISITORS’ QUEST._ Father Peter retired to his chamber, drew the curtains, put the candle on the night-table, threw himself without undressing on the bed, unrolled the crumpled manuscript of blue foreign note-paper with gilt edges, and began reading. He did not close his eyes till morning. The whole history of the Princess Tarakanova, or Princess Wladimirskaya, of which Father Peter had only heard the most contradictory rumours, was now open to him, with unexpected details. “Ah! that is what it is about,” he thought, on reading the first lines; “about the mysterious Princess.” Sometimes he would leave off reading the manuscripts, and lie with closed eyes, then again begin to read. “And where now is that poor unfortunate, betrayed girl?” he asked himself, on reading the incident of Livorno. “Where is she now dragging out her miserable existence? And he, who wrote these lines, was he saved?” One candle after another burnt out. Father Peter finished the manuscript, snuffed out the last little piece of candle, and began walking up and down on the drugget. He went on walking till dawn reminded him that he had not slept all night. “What events! ah! what events! What an unfortunate tissue of incidents!” whispered the priest. “Poor martyr! May God help her!” The blackbird in the cage woke up, and seeing the very unusual promenade of its master, set up a loud unwonted scream. “He’ll wake every one up,” thought the priest.