It seems that the Regent Sophia, whom, indeed, some have pronounced to be a wonderful woman for her ability in the management of affairs both great and little—though for my part I give all the credit to Galitsin, who was for ever at her right hand to advise, restrain, and even to speak for her when her Highness lacked words—it seems that Sophia had so far impressed her will upon the Tsar Ivan that he was now willing to be married.

How she performed this magician’s trick I am not able to guess; neither can I say whether any of the ordinary spirit of a man had begun to stir in that poor creature at sight of all the womanly beauty which had been placed before him during those last few days.

It may be that somewhere within him there lurked the unmatured embryo of a man’s nature, which had at this time quickened into a kind of half-life, so that he at last consented to gaze with interest upon those fair maidens, and to accept the idea of matrimony without anger and loathing.

I do not doubt that if Vera had not, in her wisdom, turned from him with disgust, but had feigned admiration for him, and even love, as some of the others did, she could have awakened in him a kind of mild love-ardour which would have been a nearer approach to a man’s passion for a woman than any that her sisters awakened in him; yet it is certain that he accepted Vera’s attitude towards him with resignation and turned from her to seek his bride elsewhere without any great show of indignation or of regret.

The morning after Olga’s quarrel with Praskovia Soltikof was practically the deciding hour in the matter of Ivan’s choice of a bride, and doubtless that quarrel had something to do with the result, though for my part I am persuaded that—Vera not being reckoned as available—he would in any case have chosen as he did.

There entered the terem that morning a little procession of three—the Regent, the Tsar Ivan, and Galitsin.

Maria Apraxin was passed without a glance by the Tsar and by Sophia, but Galitsin stopped and spoke with her. It was his duty to receive her report, and this day I doubt not she had an interesting one to give.

Meanwhile the Tsar was passing Olga Panief, but Sophia drew him back.

‘Glance at this one, GolÚbchick,’ she said; ‘she is one you have never well examined, yet she is as beautiful as any, and has the very appearance of a Tsaritsa.’

Ivan glanced at her. ‘She frightens me,’ he said; ‘she has a cruel eye—I like her not. I would rather she were not here.’

‘Here is the minx, Vera Kurbatof,’ said the Regent, smiling nevertheless kindly upon Vera, and shaking her finger at her; ‘she who shrinks from us, Ivan. Dost know why she has done this? Because she knows that a bride is the more valued the more difficult has been her wooing and her winning. Doubt not she pines for thee, GolÚbchick; she longs to be Tsaritsa and to sit beside thee in the highest seat.’

Vera said not a word, but stood with her eyes upon the floor at her feet.

‘Is it so, Vera?’ said the Tsar. ‘Speak truth and fear not. I would rather choose thee than all the rest, but to me it seems that thou art not willing, thou art afraid of me. When I touched thee thy head swam and thy knees failed; was it not so?’

‘It is true, Tsar,’ said Vera; ‘I fear thee.’

‘And why?’

‘God knows! I shall always fear thee, and I can never love thee; believe that I am speaking truth.’

‘I do believe——’ began the Tsar; but Sophia interrupted him.

‘See, Vera,’ she said, ‘it is possible that in knowing the Tsar better and seeing him oftener, this feeling of thine may change for a gentler one. He is kind of heart, believe me, and will make a more indulgent husband than many a man to whom God has given better health and a handsomer face. Ivan loves you the best of all—can you not see it? Come, smile upon him, child, and give him thy hand, and by all the saints of Heaven thou shalt be Tsaritsa in a month, and as fair and as happy a one as ever sat beside a Tsar upon the highest seat.’

‘Madam, do not entreat me,’ said poor Vera. ‘It is the truth that I am afraid of the Tsar; I could not sit beside him. If I were not afraid to death of him I should not have hid myself from him. Do not press me—Tsar, on my knee, I beseech thee. I should be a sorry Tsaritsa that feared the touch and the very sight of thee. Let me go my way; there are those here who long for thee to exalt them to thy side.’

‘Bah!’ said the Regent, tugging at his arm; ‘leave her then, GolÚbchick, if she insists upon being a fool. If she truly fears thee she will hate thee if we marry thee to her; let her go, fool and minx that she is.’

The Tsar obeyed. He followed his sister, though he turned and gazed at Vera once more as he went.

Then they came to where Praskovia Soltikof stood and waited for them, all blushes, and her splendid eyes ablaze as they sent a speaking glance at the Tsar before screening themselves beneath her marvellous black lashes, long and arched, and lying now upon her cheeks like two lovely fringes of delicate feathered lacework.

Ivan stopped suddenly as his eyes fell upon this picture. He half turned towards Vera as though he would compare the two; but the figure of Praskovia seemed to have captured his gaze, and his eyes remained fixed upon her.

“Holy Mother! there stands a Tsaritsa indeed!’ exclaimed Galitsin. ‘See, Sophia, such loveliness is surely peerless!’

‘Yes, but——’ began the Regent, and drew Galitsin aside so that Maria Apraxin (from whom Mazeppa received all that has been told of this scene) could not hear what they said. If one may guess, it is probable that Sophia would much have preferred Vera for Tsaritsa, partly because the Tsar seemed more attracted by her than by the rest, but chiefly because she fancied that Vera Tsaritsa would be more easily managed than Praskovia Tsaritsa; for the Regent Sophia did not intend to see the power go from her own hands, and the wife of Ivan should be one who would consent to take the second place in the realm.

But Galitsin had ever the ruling word of these two, and doubtless he persuaded the Regent that matters must go forward now as Ivan would, having gone thus far, and that since Vera was obstinately determined against marriage with him, and he seemed to have accepted her refusal with resignation, the better way now was to encourage him in his obvious admiration for Praskovia. Therefore the two soon returned to the spot where Ivan still stood and gazed, speechless, at Praskovia Soltikof, from whose figure he had not once withdrawn his eyes during these moments of waiting.

‘See, her hand is bound up as though it were hurt,’ said the Tsar as they joined him. ‘What ails her, think you, sister?’

‘Ask her, GolÚbchick, for yourself. She is not an image of wax, she is warm flesh and blood, made for love and for caresses; ask her, my dove!’

‘What ails thee?’ stammered Ivan, blushing to the roots of his hair.

‘It is nothing, Tsar,’ said Praskovia, glancing at Olga and attempting to hide her hand.

Here Maria Apraxin stepped forward.

‘There is a dog in the terem that bites, Highness,’ she laughed; ‘poor Praskovia has been bitten.’

‘A dog?’ exclaimed Ivan, recoiling—‘a dog that bites—he may be mad, sister, let us depart!’

‘A dog on two legs was this, Tsar,’ said Maria; ‘one who is called Olga Panief.’

‘What mean you, Maria?’ asked Sophia sternly. ‘Do you say her hand is bitten, and by this Cossack minx?’

‘So it was, Highness. There was a quarrel, which Olga began and ended, began with insult and ended with biting.’

‘Fie, Panief!’ cried the Regent. ‘Go forth, minx, we will have no biters here. Was thy mother a wolf, that thou must tear thy companions with tooth and claw? Shame, wench—go forth, I say!’

‘Drive her away quickly, Galitsin, I am afraid of her,’ said Ivan whimpering. ‘Who can tell? she may turn and bite us all; let her go quickly and return no more!’

Olga left the terem in tears, but she turned at the door and shook her fist at Praskovia and at Maria, neither of whom took any further notice of her.

Then the Regent raised Praskovia’s wounded hand and looked at it.

‘See the poor wounded hand!’ she said. ‘See, Ivan, where the cruel teeth went in! How shall we cure it for her?’

‘Kiss it with thy lips, Ivan Alexeyevitch!’ cried Galitsin with a laugh. ‘I warrant that will heal the wound better than all the herbs and medicines the leech can give her!’

‘Yes, kiss it, GolÚbchik!’ said Sophia.

And the Tsar obediently, though shyly withal, took the wounded hand and kissed it.

‘Oh, Tsar, I am not worthy!’ exclaimed Praskovia, sinking on her knees and catching at the edge of his kaftan to raise it to her lips.

But when the Regent bade Ivan kiss Praskovia’s forehead and tell her she was the most beautiful of all his maidens, the Tsar’s eyes were fixed upon Vera—and this is not to be wondered at, for indeed at this moment she looked so radiantly lovely—in the light, I suppose, of happiness secured—that those who observed her declared they never saw so much beauty in any face as in hers at this moment.