The dark winter days passed by, one by one, and the first week of
Lent had already arrived to subdue the glittering festivities of
the court, when the only genuine adventure of the season happened
to the young Prince. For adventures, in the conventional sense of
the word, he was not distinguished; whatever came to him must come
by its own force, or the force of destiny.

One raw, gloomy evening, as dusk was setting in, he saw a female
figure in a droschky, which was about turning from the great
Morskoi into the Gorokhovaya (Pea) Street. He noticed, listlessly,
that the lady was dressed in black, closely veiled, and appeared to
be urging the istvostchik (driver) to make better speed. The
latter cut his horse sharply: it sprang forward, just at the
turning, and the droschky, striking a lamp-post was instantly
overturned. The lady, hurled with great force upon the solidly
frozen snow, lay motionless, which the driver observing, he righted
the sled and drove off at full speed, without looking behind him.
It was not inhumanity, but fear of the knout that hurried him away.

Prince Boris looked up and down the Morskoi, but perceived no one
near at hand. He then knelt upon the snow, lifted the lady's head
to his knee, and threw back her veil. A face so lovely, in spite
of its deadly pallor, he had never before seen. Never had he even
imagined so perfect an oval, such a sweet, fair forehead, such
delicately pencilled brows, so fine and straight a nose, such
wonderful beauty of mouth and chin. It was fortunate that she was
not very severely stunned, for Prince Boris was not only ignorant
of the usual modes of restoration in such cases, but he totally
forgot their necessity, in his rapt contemplation of the lady's
face. Presently she opened her eyes, and they dwelt,