Raising the royal cup, Lord of the heavens,
For this we pray.

SHUISKY. (Drinks.) Long live our mighty sovereign!
Farewell, dear guests. I thank you that ye scorned not
My bread and salt. Farewell; good-night.

(Exeunt Guests: he conducts them to the door.)

PUSHKIN. Hardly could they tear themselves away; indeed,
Prince Vassily Ivanovitch, I began to think that we
should not succeed in getting any private talk.

SHUISKY. (To the Servants.) You there, why do you stand
Gaping? Always eavesdropping on gentlemen! Clear
the table, and then be off.

(Exeunt Servants.)

What is it, Athanasius
Mikailovitch?

PUSHKIN. Such a wondrous thing!
A message was sent here to me today
From Cracow by my nephew Gabriel Pushkin.

SHUISKY. Well?

PUSHKIN. 'Tis strange news my nephew writes. The son
Of the Terrible-- But stay--