The Daughter of an Empress

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had already dismissed her household and withdrawn into her private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."