On the morrow, very early, Marya dressed herself and went to the Imperial Gardens.  The morning was lovely.  The sun gilded with its beams the tops of the lindens, already yellowed by the keen breath of autumn.  The large lake sparkled unruffled; the swans, just awake, were gravely quitting the bushes on the bank.  Marya went to the edge of a beautiful lawn, where had lately been erected a monument in honour of the recent victories of Count Roumianzeff.[74]

All at once a little dog of English breed ran towards her, barking.  Marya stopped short, alarmed.  At this moment a pleasant woman’s voice said—­

“Do not be afraid; he will not hurt you.”

Marya saw a lady seated on a little rustic bench opposite the monument, and she went and seated herself at the other end of the bench.  The lady looked attentively at her, and Marya, who had stolen one glance at her, could now see her well.  She wore a cap and a white morning gown and a little light cloak.  She appeared about 50 years old; her face, full and high-coloured, expressed repose and gravity, softened by the sweetness of her blue eyes and charming smile.  She was the first to break the silence.

“Doubtless you are not of this place?” she asked.

“You are right, lady; I only arrived yesterday from the country.”

“You came with your parents?”

“No, lady, alone.”

“Alone! but you are very young to travel by yourself.”

“I have neither father nor mother.”

“You are here on business?”

“Yes, lady, I came to present a petition to the Tzarina.”

“You are an orphan; doubtless you have to complain of injustice or wrong.”

“No, lady, I came to ask grace, and not justice.”

“Allow me to ask a question:  Who are you?”

“I am the daughter of Captain Mironoff.”

“Of Captain Mironoff?  He who commanded one of the forts in the Orenburg district?”

“Yes, lady.”

The lady appeared moved.

“Forgive me,” she resumed, in a yet softer voice, “if I meddle in your affairs; but I am going to Court.  Explain to me the object of your request; perhaps I may be able to help you.”

Marya rose, and respectfully saluted her.  Everything in the unknown lady involuntarily attracted her, and inspired trust.  Marya took from her pocket a folded paper; she offered it to her protectress, who ran over it in a low voice.

When she began she looked kind and interested, but all at once her face changed, and Marya, who followed with her eyes her every movement, was alarmed by the hard expression of the face lately so calm and gracious.

“You plead for Grineff,” said the lady, in an icy tone.  “The Tzarina cannot grant him grace.  He passed over to the usurper, not as an ignorant and credulous man, but as a depraved and dangerous good-for-nothing.”

“It’s not true!” cried Marya.