Though Vera was not actually released from the terem for two days after this, there was little talk of any Tsaritsa but Praskovia Soltikof.

The Tsar, though in his foolish, weak way he seemed to regret Vera, grew—it is said—hourly fonder of Praskovia, and by degrees he began to show something of the spirit of a man towards her. This circumstance gave the greatest delight to Sophia, who, said Mazeppa, made no secret of it that she had not expected such good fortune.

‘There is the succession to think of,’ she explained; ‘for you will understand that it would please us better if Ivan should provide an heir rather than that we should depend for succession upon such brats as the young scapegrace at Preobrajensky may raise to himself.’

When Vera was at last allowed to go forth from the terem she went straight back to the DiÉvitchy monastery, but was not received by the new Superior, who declared that she feared the anger of the Regent; therefore she was obliged to return to her father’s house, where she incurred the rage of the old Boyar, who, disappointed of his hopes in her, did not receive her with the kindness of a parent, but rather with the fury of a madman.

But Vera cared little for his rage, seeing that she had escaped the great danger she had feared, and which indeed had at one moment threatened to swamp for ever her happiness.

‘And there,’ said Mazeppa, ending his tale, ‘she is now, thanking God daily for her escape; and Praskovia Soltikof is the chosen Tsaritsa, announced to the people and accepted by the Tsar, who—if I mistake not—will sometimes wish that he had chosen as his poor heart first dictated; for if one thing is more certain than another in this world, it is that his fancy—such as it is—went out to Vera rather than to her who is to be his wife!’

When Mazeppa had finished his tale, I took my leave of him, and, going straight to the Uspensky Cathedral, offered a candle at the shrine of the Blessed Mother of the Lord for the mercy vouchsafed to Vera, and, through her, to me. And on that same day I received a visitor whom I certainly did not expect to see: Olga Panief.

This girl, be it remembered, had treated me very badly. Before my absence upon the Azof campaign she had professed faithful love for me; yet when I returned I found that she had thrown me over for the chance of being chosen by the Tsar Ivan. This I might have forgiven, seeing that for an ambitious girl the Tsar’s choice is not an opportunity to be lightly put aside. But she had made love with Mazeppa during my absence, upon his own showing, and though she had thrown him over no less than myself, this was nevertheless a crime which I was not prepared to forgive.

Therefore, when I learned that Olga Panief was waiting in the ante-room to see me, I quickly made up my mind that if somehow I could become even with her I would do so. She should yet weep for her treatment of me!

Olga greeted me cordially: we conversed, and she described to me, what I knew already, her nearness to being chosen Tsaritsa.

‘If it had not been for the cat Soltikof,’ said Olga, ‘I should have been chosen! Oh, the cringing, lying, deceitful minx that she is! Kill her for me, Chelminsky; let your sword or your dagger bite well, straight into her heart; or still better, kill her slowly and with much suffering, curse her! I might have been Tsaritsa, but for her!’

‘You might also and more certainly have been the wife of Chelminsky and saved yourself all this trouble and disappointment,’ said I. ‘From all I hear, Olga Panief, you never had any real chance of being chosen by the Tsar: it rested between Vera Kurbatof and Praskovia Soltikof, but you were never so much as considered by the Tsar—oh! do not look so crossly, for I know what I speak of!’

‘It is a lie; but for Soltikof I should have been chosen. Vera Kurbatof, indeed! Even this fool of a Tsar would not marry so great a fool as Vera!’

‘Well, I admit thou art a splendid woman, Olga. If my heart were of the breaking kind, that would have been a deadly blow when thou didst leave Batourin in my absence for the terem of the Tsar, forgetting thy plighted troth to me!’

‘What, the chance to be Tsaritsa, and abandon it because of a word to thee? Thou must think me a fool indeed, Chelminsky!’

‘And what of certain courting with Mazeppa while the lover was away?’

‘Bah! Mazeppa! to dally with Mazeppa means nothing, for every woman is the same to him; all are toys, to play with and to forget in a day! Now see here, Chelminsky, kill me this detestable Praskovia and I am still yours, only ten times more than before. I swear I will marry you at once, and we will go where you please; there, I am serious.’

‘And why do you want her killed?’ I asked, with difficulty restraining my laughter.

‘Because I hate her: is that reason enough? If you will have more, because she has been chosen Tsaritsa over my head; and, last reason, she is my enemy—she has insulted me before the Regent. Is that enough for thee? Come, thy answer?’

‘But why should I kill the girl?’ I asked. ‘What harm has she ever done me?’

‘Have I not said that I will marry you for doing me this service? I have asked you to do it because of all men I know I think you are the most to be trusted, and because I believe that you love me well enough to do my will, seeing that the prize offered is one for which any man would surely sell his soul—and that is myself!’

‘And thou wilt give thyself, then, to any man who will rid thee of this enemy?’

‘I did not say that. I offer the prize to thee, and thee only. Come, look at me well, Chelminsky—am not I worth winning?’

‘You may be that—I did not deny or assert anything. I have won thee once and found the prize elusive. Once bitten, I am careful to avoid dogs.’

‘This time I should keep my troth: I tell you the other was an exceptional case. A maiden invited to the bride-choosing of the Tsar is not her own mistress; she must go whether she will or no. Come, Chelminsky, am I less to be loved than before? Are my eyes smaller or dimmer? Am I shorter? Is my figure less shapely? Am I not still the kind of maiden for whom a man would barter his soul?’

She came nearer to me and placed her face close to mine, so that I could feel her breath as she spoke. ‘Come, Chelminsky, look at me well,’ she said; ‘am I less than I was?’

‘I will tell thee what will surprise thee, Olga,’ I said. ‘It was none other than I that brought Praskovia Soltikof to the terem to overshadow thee in the Tsar’s eyes. She is a dear friend of mine, and thou comest to me, of all others, to have her killed!’

‘Stay—does she love thee, Chelminsky; art thou her lover?’

‘I did not say so. It may be and it may not.’

‘Nay, tell me—does she love thee? Oh, if she does, Chelminsky, if she does, I see a better vengeance than her death; she shall live to be jealous. Thou shalt love me again, as before, and marry me. Help me in this, dear Chelminsky. She has robbed me of the Tsar and insulted me. I shall die if I am not quickly avenged. Tell me, truly, does she love thee?’

‘I think it may well be so,’ said I, for this farce amused me and I would see how it should end. ‘For one who marries such a husband as Ivan, it is no very great sin to keep a little affection for a handsome lover from the old days!’

‘Make sure of her, Chelminsky; let her love thee madly, and when she is at her maddest thou shalt marry me before her eyes. I will give thee my very soul to do me this service!’