pride that thirsteth for blood. This holy image of the most venerable Saint Sergey, of old a zealous champion of our country’s welfare, is borne to your imperial majesty. I grieve that my failing strength hinders me from the joy of your most gracious presence. Fervent prayers I am offering up to Heaven, and the Almighty will exalt the faithful and fulfil in His mercy the hopes of your majesty.”

“Quel force! Quel style!” was murmured in applause of the reader and the author. Roused by this appeal, Anna Pavlovna’s guests continued for a long while talking of the position of the country, and made various surmises as to the issue of the battle to be fought in a few days.

“You will see,” said Anna Pavlovna, “that to-morrow on the Emperor’s birthday we shall get news. I have a presentiment of something good.”