expressionless, but bewildering in their darkness and depth, upon
his own, while her consciousness of things slowly returned.

She strove to rise, and Boris gently lifted and supported her. She
would have withdrawn from his helping arm, but was still too weak
from the shock. He, also, was confused and (strange to say)
embarrassed; but he had self-possession enough to shout, "Davei!"
(Here!) at random. The call was answered from the Admiralty
Square; a sled dashed up the Gorokhovaya and halted beside him.
Taking the single seat, he lifted her gently upon his lap and held
her very tenderly in his arms.

"Where?" asked the istvostchik.

Boris was about to answer "Anywhere!" but the lady whispered in a
voice of silver sweetness, the name of a remote street, near the
Smolnoi Church.

As the Prince wrapped the ends of his sable pelisse about her, he
noticed that her furs were of the common foxskin worn by the middle
classes. They, with her heavy boots and the threadbare cloth of
her garments, by no means justified his first suspicion,--that she
was a grande dame, engaged in some romantic "adventure." She was
not more than nineteen or twenty years of age, and he felt--
without knowing what it was--the atmosphere of sweet, womanly
purity and innocence which surrounded her. The shyness of a lost
boyhood surprised him.

By the time they had reached the Litenie, she had fully recovered
her consciousness and a portion of her strength. She drew away