“I often thought of you,” said Father Peter. “Here I only see one person, and that is--the Tzarevitch, Pavel Petrovitch;[51] he is Grand-Master and Protector of the Order of Maltese Knights--he alone can help you. If he will only stoop to you, to your petition, he alone can do something for you. In him you’ll find everything--talent, honour, always used in the interest of anything high and noble, secret relations with all the most powerful and celebrated philanthropists. And what goodness, what knightly nobility! No; it is not Tiberius, as his enemies say; it’s the future beneficent Titus.” “Yes, I have heard that,” answered Irena. “You have heard? then go to him, find him at his manor house, seek for an audience.” The priest gave Irena all possible information and advice, as well as a letter to his god-daughter, housekeeper in the household of the Tzarevitch. Rakitina hired a _kibitka_[52] and started for Pavlovski, the personal property of the grand-duke. The housekeeper received Rakitina very hospitably. She took her into her own apartment, and then, to amuse her a little, pointed out to her all the curiosities in the garden and park of the grand-duke; the little cottage Cric-Crac, the hut of the hermit, the caverns, lakes, and rustic bridges. It was decided that Irena should first relate everything to the favourite maid of honour of the grand-duchess, Ekaterina Ivanovna Nelidova, who had only just terminated her education at Smolney Institute.[53] “When shall we go to see Ekaterina Ivanovna?” said Irena, longing for the promised audience. “We shall have to wait; she is very much occupied now, learning a hymn on the clavichord. It’s the favourite piece of the grand-duke; she is getting it ready for the concert.” One day Irena was walking in the park with her hostess. All at once from behind the trees, a fair lady in a light blue silk dress, without any hoops, came towards them. “Who is that?” asked Irena. “The Tzarevna,” whispered the housekeeper, bowing very respectfully. Irena turned faint. The elegant, though a little inclined to embonpoint, Grand Duchess Marie Feodorovna was then twenty-two, and very lovely. In passing by Irena, she turned her rather bewildered and short-sighted eyes upon her, as though astonished at her nun’s dress. The Tzarevna was followed by a very tall, thin, pock-marked man in a dark _kaftan_ and cocked hat, carrying a roll of music and a fiddle under his arm. “And who is that?” asked Rakitina, when they had gone by. “Paëzsïllo,” answered the housekeeper; “music master to her Imperial Highness.” Irena admired the rare beauty of the Tzarevna, the delicate pink and white complexion, the splendid golden hair, in which nestled some blue and red flowers, contained in a tiny bottle of water to keep them fresh.