Night had come. The lights in palaces and houses were gradually
extinguished. St. Petersburg began to sleep, or at least to give itself
the appearance of sleeping. The regent, Anna Leopoldowna, also,
had already dismissed her household and withdrawn into her private
apartments.
It was a fine starlight night. Anna leaned upon the window-frame,
thoughtfully and dreamily glancing up at the heavens. Her eyes gradually
filled with tears, which slowly rolled down her cheeks and fell upon her
hands. She was startled by the falling of these warm, glowing drops. She
was thinking of Lynar, of the distant, warmly-desired one, to whom she
would gladly have devoted her whole existence, but to whom she could
belong only through falsehood. She thought it would be nobler and
greater to renounce him, that her love might be consecrated by her
abnegation, while actually devoting her life to the duties enjoined
by the laws and the Church. But these thoughts filled her bosom with a
nameless sorrow, and it was involuntarily that she wept.
"No," she murmured low, "I cannot make this sacrifice; I cannot make
an offering of my love to my virtue; for this bugbear of a compulsory
marriage I cannot give up a love which God Himself has inspired in my
heart. Then let it be so! Let the world judge and the priests condemn
me. I will not sacrifice my love to a prejudice. I know that this is
sinful, but God will have compassion on the sinner who has no other
happiness on earth than this only one--a love that controls her whole
being. And if this sin must be punished, oh, my Maker, I pray you to
pardon him, and let the punishment fall on me alone!"
Thus speaking, she raised her arms and directed her eyes toward the
heavens in fervent prayer. Suddenly a brilliant light flashed through
the air--a star had shot from its sphere, and, after a short course, had
become extinguished.
"That bodes misfortune," said Anna, with a shudder, her head sinking
upon her breast.
At this moment there was a loud knocking at her door, and Prince Ulrich,
Anna's husband, earnestly demanded admission.
Anna hastened to open, asking with surprise the cause of his unusual
visit.
"Anna," said the prince, hastily entering, "I come to warn you once
more. Again has a warning letter been mysteriously conveyed to me. I
have just found it upon my night-table. See for yourself. It implores
us to be on our guard. It informs us that we are threatened with a
frightful danger, that Elizabeth conspires, and that we are lost if we
do not instantly take preventive measures."
Anna read the warning letter, and then smilingly gave it back to her
husband.
"Always the same old song, the same croaking of the toad," said
she. "Count Ostermann has taken it into his head that Elizabeth is
conspiring, and doubtless all these warning letters come from him. Read
them no more in future, my husband, and now let us retire to rest."