It might have been from the constant habit of slavish obedience, or a strong feeling of pride, but Anielka instantly ceased weeping.  There was a moment’s pause, during which the old Countess went grumbling out of the room.  Anielka chose the Hymn to the Virgin she had warbled in the garden, and as she sung, she prayed fervently;—­she prayed for peace, for deliverance from the acute emotions which had been aroused within her.  Her earnestness gave an intensity of expression to the melody, which affected her listeners.  They were silent for some moments after its conclusion.  Leon walked up and down with his arms folded on his breast.  Was it agitated with pity for the accomplished young slave? or by any other tender emotion?  What followed will show.

“My dear Constantia,” he said, suddenly stopping before his sister and kissing her hand, “will you do me a favor?”

Constantia looked inquiringly in her brother’s face without speaking.

“Give me this girl”

“Impossible!”

“I am quite in earnest,” continued Leon, “I wish to offer her to my future wife.  In the Prince her father’s private chapel they are much in want of a solo soprano.”

“I shall not give her to you,” said Constantia.”

“Not as a free gift, but in exchange.  I will give you instead a charming young negro—­so black.  The women in St. Petersburgh and in Paris raved about him:  but I was inexorable:  I half refused him to my princess.”

“No, no,” replied Constantia; “I shall be lonely without this girl, I am so used to her.”

“Nonsense! you can get peasant girls by the dozen; but a black page, with teeth whiter than ivory, and purer than pearls; a perfect original in his way; you surely cannot withstand.  You will kill half the province with envy.  A negro servant is the most fashionable thing going, and yours will be the first imported into the province.”

This argument was irresistible.  “Well,” replied Constantia, “when do you think of taking her?”

“Immediately; to-day at five o’clock,” said Leon; and he went merrily out of the room.

This then was the result of his cogitation—­of Anielka’s Hymn to the Virgin.  Constantia ordered Anielka to prepare herself for the journey, with as little emotion as if she had exchanged away a lap-dog, or parted with parrot.

She obeyed in silence.  Her heart was full.  She went into the garden that she might relieve herself by weeping unseen.  With one hand supporting her burning head, and the other pressed tightly against her heart, to stifle her sobs, she wandered on mechanically till she found herself by the side of the river.  She felt quickly for her purse, intending to throw the rouble into the water, but as quickly thrust it back again, for she could not bear to part with the treasure.  She felt as if without it she would be still more an orphan.  Weeping bitterly, she leaned against the tree which had once before witnessed her tears.