Martha. The golden dishes were set before her, and the famous
family emeralds--in accordance with the command of Prince Alexis--
gleamed among her dark hair and flashed around her milk-white
throat. Her beauty was of a kind so rare in Russia that it
silenced all question and bore down all rivalry. Every one
acknowledged that so lovely a creature had never before been seen.
"Faith, the boy has eyes!" the old Prince constantly repeated, as
he turned away from a new stare of admiration, down the table.

The guests noticed a change in the character of the entertainment.
The idiot, in his tow shirt, had been crammed to repletion in the
kitchen, and was now asleep in the stable. Razboi, the new bear,--
the successor of the slaughtered Mishka,--was chained up out of
hearing. The jugglers, tumblers, and Calmucks still occupied their
old place under the gallery, but their performances were of a
highly decorous character. At the least-sign of a relapse into
certain old tricks, more grotesque than refined, the brows of
Prince Alexis would grow dark, and a sharp glance at Sasha was
sufficient to correct the indiscretion. Every one found this
natural enough; for they were equally impressed with the elegance
and purity of the young wife. After the healths had been drunk and
the slumber-flag was raised over the castle, Boris led her into the
splendid apartments of his mother,--now her own,--and knelt at her
feet.

"Have I done my part, my Boris?" she asked.

"You are an angel!" he cried. "It was a miracle! My life was not
worth a copek, and I feared for yours. If it will only last!--if
it will only last!"