“Thank you, Father,” answered Rakitina, bowing. “Let us pray God that we may learn something about that unfortunate ship without a crew, and if no one else were saved, perhaps Konsov.… Yesterday Count Pânin promised me to get some information from a foreign Marine Department--in Spain--in Madeira; Von Viesing, the author, has also offered his services. Shall I not hear of something? I shall wait a little longer; still I ought to be going home, but how can I go without any hope! Oh! that unfortunate ship, it haunts me night and day!…” CHAPTER XXVII. _A LATE VISITOR._ The evening of the 1st of December, 1775, was particularly wet and windy. The snow which had fallen in the morning was now all melted; there were pools of water everywhere; the few and far between carriages and pedestrians gloomily splashed along the streets. There was a storm. The wind howled over the house of the priest, shaking the shutters, and bending the enormous trees in the garden of the Hetman. The Neva was swollen; an inundation was imminent. From time to time could be heard the gloomy sound of the cannon from the fortress. Father Peter was in the attic with the girls, and very thoughtful. The conversation could not be kept up to the accompaniment of the howling wind; it frequently had to be broken. Vâra was telling the cards; Irena appeared very displeased, and was relating with a very discontented face what leeches the secretaries in the Foreign Department were, the interpreters, and even the very scribes. Notwithstanding the orders and personal interest of Count Pânin, they had as yet done nothing in Spain or on the islands. Projects were made on paper, copied, translated, everything, only to drag on. “You should just oil a little … through the servants, or somehow,” said the priest. “Oh! she gave without stint,” answered Vâra for her friend. “Oh! those laggards,” said Father Peter. “Yes, it’s high time our empress should return from Moscow. We are badly off without her.” The rain beat furiously on the windows like hail. The poor trembling drenched dog had hidden himself in his kennel, as though acknowledging that in such a storm, and with the cannon firing, no one would take the trouble to disturb him. All at once, after one of the booms of the cannon from the fortress, the dog began to bark most angrily, and, above the roar of the wind, the noise of the shutting of the gate was distinctly heard. Both girls shivered. “Axenia is asleep,” said Father Peter, speaking of the cook. “Some one wants me, I suppose, and could not make himself heard at the front door.” “Uncle, I’ll go and open it,” said Vâra. “Oh! with your courage! You’d better sit still.” The priest, taking the candle in his hand, went down and opened the door. There entered a not very tall, but stout man, with a red face. He had a cocked hat and sword, and seemed as if he had got rather wet while waiting at the _perron_ to have the door opened.