"You mean your daughter's?" the Prince gently suggested.

"Hers and her mother's. Our story was well known in St. Petersburg
twenty years ago, but I suppose no one recollects it now. My wife
was the daughter of a Baron von Plauen, and loved music and myself
better than her home and a titled bridegroom. She escaped, we
united our lives, suffered and were happy together,--and she died.
That is all."

Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Helena,
with steaming glasses of tea. She was even lovelier than before.
Her close-fitting dress revealed the symmetry of her form, and the
quiet, unstudied grace of her movements. Although her garments
were of well-worn material, the lace which covered her bosom was
genuine point d'Alencon, of an old and rare pattern. Boris felt
that her air and manner were thoroughly noble; he rose and saluted
her with the profoundest respect.

In spite of the singular delight which her presence occasioned him,
he was careful not to prolong his visit beyond the limits of strict
etiquette. His name, Boris Alexeivitch, only revealed to his
guests the name of his father, without his rank; and when he stated
that he was employed in one of the Departments, (which was true in
a measure, for he was a staff officer,) they could only look upon
him as being, at best, a member of some family whose recent
elevation to the nobility did not release them from the necessity
of Government service. Of course he employed the usual pretext of
wishing to study music, and either by that or some other stratagem
managed to leave matters in such a shape that a second visit could