As for Vaninka, she had hardly noticed Foedor; for what was a young sub-lieutenant, without fortune or prospects, to her?  What she dreamed of was some princely alliance, that would make her one of the most powerful ladies in Russia, and unless he could realise some dream of the Arabian Nights, Foedor could not offer her such a future.

Some time after this first interview, Foedor came to take leave of the general.  His regiment was to form part of a contingent that Field-Marshal Souvarow was taking to Italy, and Foedor was about to die, or show himself worthy of the noble patron who had helped him to a career.

This time, whether on account of the elegant uniform that heightened Foedor’s natural good looks, or because his imminent departure, glowing with hope and enthusiasm, lent a romantic interest to the young man, Vaninka was astonished at the marvellous change in him, and deigned, at her father’s request, to give him her hand when he left.  This was more than Foedor had dared to hope.  He dropped upon his knee, as though in the presence of a queen, and took Vaninka’s between his own trembling hands, scarcely daring to touch it with his lips.  Light though the kiss had been, Vaninka started as though she had been burnt; she felt a thrill run through her, and she blushed violently.  She withdrew her hand so quickly, that Foedor, fearing this adieu, respectful though it was, had offended her, remained on his knees, and clasping his hands, raised his eyes with such an expression of fear in them, that Vaninka, forgetting her hauteur, reassured him with a smile.  Foedor rose, his heart filled with inexplicable joy, and without being able to say what had caused this feeling, he only knew that it had made him absolutely happy, so that, although he was just about to leave Vaninka, he had never felt greater happiness in his life.

The young man left dreaming golden dreams; for his future, be it gloomy or bright, was to be envied.  If it ended in a soldier’s grave, he believed he had seen in Vaninka’s eyes that she would mourn him; if his future was glorious, glory would bring him back to St. Petersburg in triumph, and glory is a queen, who works miracles for her favourites.

The army to which the young officer belonged crossed Germany, descended into Italy by the Tyrolese mountains, and entered Verona on the 14th of April 1799.  Souvarow immediately joined forces with General Melas, and took command of the two armies.  General Chasteler next day suggested that they should reconnoitre.  Souvarow, gazing at him with astonishment, replied, “I know of no other way of reconnoitring the enemy than by marching upon him and giving him battle.”