He rose and left the room.  Alone with my mother, Marie confided to her, in part, the object of her journey.  My mother, in tears, kissed her and prayed for the success of the project.  A few days after, Marie, Polacca and Saveliitch left home.

When Marie reached Sofia, she learned that the Court was at that moment in residence at the summer palace of Tzarskoie-Selo.  She decided to stop there, and obtained a small room at the post-house.  The post mistress came to chat with the new-comer.  She told Marie, pompously, that she was the niece of an official attached to the Court—­her uncle having the honor of attending to the fires in her Majesty’s abode!  Marie soon knew at what hour the Empress rose, took her coffee, and went on the promenade; in brief, the conversation of Anna was like a page from the memoirs of the times, and would be very precious in our days.  The two women went together to the Imperial gardens, where Anna told Marie the romance of each pathway and the history of every bridge over the artificial streams.  Next day very early Marie returned alone to the Imperial gardens.  The weather was superb.  The sun gilded the linden tops, already seared by the Autumn frosts.  The broad lake sparkled, the swans, just aroused, came out gravely from the shore.  Marie was going to a charming green sward, when a little dog, of English blood, came running to her barking.  She was startled; but a voice of rare refinement said:  “He will not bite you; do not be afraid.”

A lady about fifty years of age was seated on a rustic bench.  She was dressed in a white morning-dress, a light cap and a mantilla.  Her face, full and florid, was expressive of calmness and seriousness.  She was the first to speak:  “You are evidently a stranger here?”

“That is true, madam.  I arrived from the country yesterday.”

“You are with your parents?”

“No, madam, alone.”

“You are too young to travel alone.  Are you here on business?”

“My parents are dead.  I came to present a petition to the Empress.”

“You are an orphan; you have to complain of injustice, or injury?”

“Madam, I came to ask for a pardon, not justice.”

“Permit me a question:  Who are you?”

“I am the daughter of Captain Mironoff.”

“Of Captain Mironoff? of him who commanded one of the fortresses in the province of Orenbourg?”

“The same, madam.”

The lady seemed touched.  “Pardon me, I am going to Court.  Explain the object of your petition; perhaps I can aid you.”  Marie took from her pocket a paper which she handed to the lady, who read it attentively.  Marie, whose eyes followed every movement of her countenance, was alarmed by the severe expression of face so calm and gracious a moment before.

“You intercede for Grineff?” said the lady, in an icy tone.  “The Empress can not pardon him.  He went over to the usurper, not as an ignorant believer, but as a depraved and dangerous good-for-nothing.”