of death. Struggle as she
might, through the ensuing months--the few, few ensuing months, that
clutch must grow tighter and more cruelly tight, until--the end. During
the years since her marriage Madame Gregoriev had, more than once,
wished--nay, prayed for death. But a hopeless desire and the inevitable
reality are generally two widely different things. And the clearest
possible proof of the poignancy of the mental suffering of her past life
lay in the fact that, fully understanding her position, it was a matter
of only a few hours before she could accept, with some show of
tranquillity, this last incident of, this fitting climax to, her long
tragedy.

From the first, she kept her knowledge to herself. The doctor who had
examined her had not been requested to take up the case; and as yet, she
asked help of none. It was weeks before old Masha, coming, one
afternoon, into the Princess' rooms with tea, found her mistress on her
knees before the ikon, passionately demanding strength for continued
silence. The old woman, struck suddenly dumb with intuition, waited only
till the dread name had come from Sophia's lips, and then burst into a
wild wailing--that long-drawn cry for the dead, characteristic of the
Russian peasant. The Princess demanded, implored, finally threatened her
old servitor, till the promise of secrecy had been obtained; but she
guessed that Masha had not given it till she had assured herself that
the disease could not be concealed much longer.

Hitherto, in that bleak and lonely household, there had been little
comfort for the woman who knew no hour, no second, free from pain. But
Masha, like many country-bred women, was skilled in the decoction of
those herbs and simples that seem, at times, more efficacious than more
scientific medicines. Moreover, the old woman was passionately devoted
to the mistress whom she had tended as a child, and nursed through every
illness of girlhood. Thenceforth Sophia was the recipient of the
tenderest care; and the old serf, experimenting, found more than one
preparation which, for a time at least, seemed to draw some of the fiery
agony from the poor, disfigured breast.

As the winter passed, however, and March drew towards its close, the
Princess, wasted almost to a shadow, left her bed no more. Thus at last
her husband awoke to the fact that her illness was no mere "woman's
nonsense." Their first brief interview terminated when, in response to
his direct questions, S