Though I had laughed to ease the mind of the good woman, I felt indeed but little disposed for mirth. My mind was full of Vera, for I had a horrible dread that she would be forced against her will to submit to marriage with the Tsar. I hastened therefore to Mazeppa’s lodging, for well I knew that if there was anything to know, whether of Vera or of anything else, Mazeppa would be the one to know the first news and the last.

‘A ghost!’ he said, as I entered and greeted him; ‘one risen from the tomb indeed, and limping, by the saints—what, wounded? Whom now hast thou found to brawl with?’

‘It is true that I have fought: one day I will tell thee all there is to tell. To-day thou must be narrator, for I long to hear news. First, what has passed at the terem?’

‘Much, and many surprising things. Has Olga Panief found thee yet?’

‘Olga? surely not—why seeks she me—is she not in the terem?’

‘That is a part of what has happened, but there is much else. Vera Kurbatof——’

‘Oh, she is found?’ I asked, feigning indifference, but failing utterly.

‘At the DiÉvitchy monastery, and brought to the terem, where she was placed among those who had been reserved for the Tsar’s final choice—six of them. But stay, I remember now that all this must be news to thee. How long hast thou been absent wounded—a week? Then there is much to be told, and I will tell from the beginning.’

Then Mazeppa began and told me the tale of that eventful week.

The Tsar having shown himself unwilling to go among so large a company of maidens, it had been decided to weed out the greater number, and to leave only those whose supreme beauty gave them particular claim to the Tsar’s regard. Among these chosen six were the girl Soltikof, whom I had brought to the palace with a message from young Peter. I was not surprised that she should have been chosen to be among the selected, for indeed she was both beautiful and vivacious, a maiden who might wring admiration from a very stone. My chosen love of former days, the Cossack maiden Olga Panief, was another of the six, the remaining four being no less beautiful maidens, each in her own way, though their names are not necessary to these records. To these six was added Vera Kurbatof, found and brought to the terem in the nick of time.

The seven were then paraded before the Tsar, who on the first occasion was sulky, or timid, or what not, and refused to raise his head to look at them, declaring that he would not marry; that they had assembled these wenches in vain for him. ‘Let them go,’ he said. ‘Let who will have them; I want none of them.’

Then the seven were returned to the terem, and for that day the farce was over. But in the night, when all slept or were supposed to sleep in the dormitory set apart for them, the Regent, with the Tsar at her side, passed among the beds and examined carefully each sleeper’s face and any part of the beautiful forms or limbs which might have escaped by accident or design from the coverings. It was known well enough that it was customary for the bridegroom Tsar thus to feast his eyes, before finally choosing his bride, upon the most beautiful of his maidens, rendered unconscious of his presence by sleep. Therefore, if one were proud of a beautiful arm or neck, she was careful to fall asleep with this exposed to view, that the Tsar might observe and admire.

Vera had cried herself to sleep, and lay—supremely beautiful—with the tears still upon her cheek. The Tsar flushed as he glanced at her. ‘She hates and fears me,’ he said, pointing at her with his chin, ‘and therefore I fear her also.’

But when he came to the bed on which the Soltikof maiden lay modestly covered, the flush of sleep upon her beautiful cheek, his breath came and went.

‘Holy Mother!’ he exclaimed, ‘here is one I have not seen. What is her name?’

The Regent named the girl, thanking her saints that Ivan seemed at last to take an interest in one, at least, of the lovely models of womanhood wasted upon him.

‘This one is well enough,’ said Ivan, passing on, ‘if she too does not hate me, like that other!’

The nightly inspection was not the only trial through which these chosen seven were compelled to pass. They were constantly questioned and examined by the Court doctors and dentists and by experienced women appointed for the purpose.

Besides this, one of the seven, being constantly among the rest and taking part in all conversations, was instructed to act as spy upon her companions, in order that their minds might be studied by those with whom lay the choice of Tsaritsa, as well as their bodily constitutions. This maiden, by name Maria Apraxin, reported all opinions uttered by the rest, and all conversation bearing upon the subject of the afflicted Tsar and his intended marriage.

In consequence of these reports three fair maids who had laughed at the Tsar when alone with their companions, suspecting nothing, were informed next day that their chance was gone, and the terem doors were open to them to pass out. There remained now only Olga Panief the Cossack girl, Vera, and the Soltikof maiden, besides the spy, who was no longer a candidate, but only the agent set to watch and observe the others.

Vera never spoke, or scarcely ever. She sat and mused and sometimes wept, but took little part in conversations. It was Olga and the Soltikof maiden who did the bulk of the talking, though the spy Maria Apraxin began most of the discussions.

Then one day the Tsar passed through the terem; it was the morning after his first sight of the sleeping maidens. There were now but these four present. He strode past Maria without raising his eyes above her feet. He passed Olga Panief with but a glance. Then he came to Vera, and paused a moment as though he would speak; but Vera did not raise the lids which concealed her lovely blue eyes, and the Tsar walked on.

Lastly he reached the place where the Soltikof stood and blushed, waiting for him with every artful trick and captivating air ready, so to say, to hand to be employed in the fascination of the Tsar.

Ivar paused and looked at her with admiration, and Praskovia Soltikof returned the look with tenfold intensity. She smiled and blushed and glanced from under her up-curled eyelashes. She knelt, and would have kissed his hand, but he drew it back. Then she took up the edge of his kaftan and kissed that instead.

‘By the saints,’ said Ivan, ‘you are as fair as any, unless it be Vera Kurbatof, who is afraid of me and hates me.’

‘Hates you, Tsar? Oh! how can anyone do so?’

‘Yet she does, though I have never done her ill, nor would do so. What is your name?’

‘Praskovia Soltikof, Highness. I have come all the way from Siberia to give the Tsar of my best.’

‘Of your best? and what is that?’ said Ivan.

‘My heart, Tsar, my love, my duty and devotion—all that I have and am—myself.’

‘Good! But you would be afraid of me, like this other.’

‘I swear I would not, Tsar.’

‘Well, see here, Praskovia Soltikof: ask this Vera whether she cannot change her mind towards me, and if she cannot or will not, I know not but what I will choose thee, since my sister will have me married whether I desire it or no.’

Praskovia’s face underwent several changes during this speech: the expression which remained the last upon it was one of triumphant happiness.

‘Oh! Tsar,’ she said, most intensely; ‘I am not worthy!’ But Ivan passed on and said no more, and when he had gone out of sight and hearing a storm arose.

For Olga Panief, whose temper was never of the best, flew out and called upon Vera to speak up and save the Tsar and the nation from having this Praskovia Soltikof for Tsaritsa.

‘She is a toady and a liar,’ cried Olga. ‘Did you see her blush and cast down her eyes when he spoke to her? Did you hear her vow she would love him and honour him, and I know not what besides? Faugh—it sickens me to hear her! Speak, Vera Kurbatof, and save us all from her: it is you the Tsar would have, all the world knows that; it is you he loves, not this toadying, fawning thing!’

‘Listen to her!’ laughed Praskovia. ‘Poor Olga, all her arts have failed, therefore she cannot tolerate those of others! Liar, am I? What of you, you hypocrite, who are ready to vow devotion to the Tsar if he would but look at you—why, you have owned as much!—and yet in the next breath you declared that if you should be chosen you would marry the sceptre, not the man; and that if you had a lover before, your marriage should make no difference, for he should be lover still!’

‘You lie, minx,’ said Olga. ‘Speak up, Vera, to-morrow, and give her the lie; save the Tsar from her; he will believe what you say.’

‘Let anyone have the Tsar so long as it is not I,’ said Vera, ‘though it seems to me that each of you is as bad as the other, for neither is honest: you do not love the Tsar, yet you would have him believe that he is adored by you! A sorry wife you would make, either of you!’

‘Will you not change your mind as to the Tsar, Vera?’ said Praskovia, laughing. ‘Remember, he has bidden me ask you this; the choice lies between you and me, for the Tsar will not look at Maria Apraxin; and as for Olga Panief, neither he nor any other man would waste a glance at so sorry a face as hers!’

At this Olga uttered a scream of rage, and, rushing at her enemy, seized her hand and bit it furiously.

Praskovia cried aloud with the pain, and the blood flowed freely, but Vera tied her handkerchief about the wound and comforted the aggrieved one. ‘At any rate, thou art as good as chosen,’ she said, ‘for thou shalt tell the Tsar that I will neither love him nor consent to marry him; therefore thou art Tsaritsa already, if thou wilt have it so!’

A speech which caused Olga, fuming and panting in her chair, to curse aloud both at Vera and at Praskovia, though she made no more violent attacks upon them.