Perhaps the Princess Martha DID suspect something; perhaps some
word in her son's letter touched a secret spot far back in her
memory, and renewed a dim, if not very intelligible, pain. She
answered his question at length, in the style of the popular French
romances of that day. She had much to say of dew and roses,
turtledoves and the arrows of Cupid.

"Ask thyself," she wrote, "whether felicity comes with her
presence, and distraction with her absence,--whether her eyes make
the morning brighter for thee, and her tears fall upon thy heart
like molten lava,--whether heaven would be black and dismal without
her company, and the flames of hell turn into roses under her
feet."

It was very evident that the good Princess Martha had never felt--
nay, did not comprehend--a passion such as she described.

Prince Boris, however, whose veneration for his mother was
unbounded, took her words literally, and applied the questions to
himself. Although he found it difficult, in good faith and
sincerity, to answer all of them affirmatively (he was puzzled, for
instance, to know the sensation of molten lava falling upon the
heart), yet the general conclusion was inevitable: Helena was
necessary to his happiness.

Instead of returning to Kinesma for the summer, as had been
arranged, he determined to remain in St. Petersburg, under the
pretence of devoting himself to military studies. This change of
plan occasioned more disappointment to the Princess Martha than