The Boy came of age in February next--February nineteenth--but it had
been the strongly expressed wish of his mother that his coronation
should not take place until May.

For was it not in May that she had met her Paul?

She had felt, from the birth of the young Prince, a presentiment of her
own early death, and had formed many plans and voiced many preferences
for his future. No one knew what personal reasons the Imperatorskoye had
for the wish, but she had so definitely and unmistakably made the desire
known to all her councillors that none dreamed of disobeying the mandate
of their deceased and ever-to-be-lamented Queen. Her slightest wish had
always been to them an Unassailable law.

So the coronation ceremonies were to take place in the May following the
Prince's birthday, and the Regent had arranged that the marriage should
also be celebrated at that time. Of course, the Boy had acquiesced. He
saw no reason to put it off any longer. It was always best to swallow
your bitterest pill first, he thought, and get the worst over and the
taste out of your mouth as soon as possible.

Until that eventful time, the Prince was free to go where he pleased,
and to do whatever he wished. He had insisted upon this liberty, and the
Regent, finding him in all other respects so amenable to his leading,
gladly made the concession. This left him a year--that is, nearly a
year, for it was June now--of care-free bachelorhood; a year for one,
who was yet only a dreamy boy, to acquire the proper spirit for a happy
bridegroom; a year of Father Paul!

He rode along aimlessly for a short distance, scarcely guiding his