My mother was much affected by this declaration.
"Why," said she, "do you want to go to Petersburg? You, too—do you also wish to forsake us?"
Marya made answer that her fate depended on the journey, and that she was going to seek help and countenance from people high in favour, as the daughter of a man who had fallen victim to his fidelity.
My father bowed his head. Each word which reminded him of the alleged crime of his son was to him a keen reproach.
"Go," he said at last, with a sigh; "we do not wish to cast any obstacles between you and happiness. May God grant you an honest man as a husband, and not a disgraced and convicted traitor."
He rose and left the room.
Left alone with my mother, Marya confided to her part of her plans. My mother kissed her with tears, and prayed God would grant her success.
A few days afterwards Marya set forth with Palashka and her faithful Savéliitch, who, necessarily, parted from me, consoled himself by remembering he was serving my betrothed.
Marya arrived safely at Sofia, and, learning that the court at this time was at the summer palace of Tzarskoe-Selo, she resolved to stop there. In the post-house she obtained a little dressing-room behind a partition.
The wife of the postmaster came at once to gossip with her, and announced to her pompously that she was the niece of a stove-warmer attached to the Palace, and, in a word, put her up to all the mysteries of the Palace. She told her at what hour the Tzarina rose, had her coffee, went to walk; what high lords there were about her, what she had deigned to say the evening before at table, who she received in the evening, and, in a word, the conversation of Anna Vlassiéfna[73] might have been a leaf from any memoir of the day, and would be invaluable now. Marya Ivanofna heard her with great attention.