Vera Kurbatof was not among those who were obliged to live during the days of selection within the terem of the palace. This did not mean that she was exempt from competition: on the contrary, it was told me that she stood at the present moment first in order of probability. That is, the Tsar was supposed to regard her already with favour; and this final assemblage of maidens had been brought about merely in deference to old customs, and in order that it might be seen, before a final decision were made, whether this Vera were really supreme among her peers, or whether there might not possibly come one whose superiority was so marked that even Ivan must observe it.
For the Tsar must have the very best; that was the central idea.
By a lucky chance I happened to meet Vera Kurbatof on the very day after our arrival in Moscow. She was walking with the old nurse who was ever her companion out of doors, and she was strictly veiled, in the fashion of the time; for until the Tsar Peter afterwards changed this and many other things after his own drastic, autocratic fashion, women in Russia were, like their sisters in Eastern countries, discouraged from showing their faces in public.
I recognised her by her voice, which was a peculiarly sweet one, and as we met I spoke to her, making my profoundest reverence in order to atone for the boldness of addressing her without permission.
‘I think you are the Barishnya Vera Kurbatof,’ I said. ‘If I am right, let your voice bear the blame of betraying your incognito.’
She started. ‘Yes, I am she!’ she said, ‘and you—yes—I remember, you are the friend of the Cossack Mazeppa.’
‘May I not stand on my own feet as the Cossack Chelminsky?’ I said, making a show of laughing, though I felt somewhat aggrieved that she, of all others, should have remembered me not for myself, but in virtue of my connection with Mazeppa.
‘Forgive me, sir,’ she said, ‘I do, indeed, remember both you and your name, but it happened that I was thinking of Mazeppa. I have thought more than once lately of your friend, for—for a reason.’
‘Worse and worse!’ I said. ‘Now I am jealous, indeed! May I know why Mazeppa is so fortunate as to have been the subject of your thoughts?’
‘Forgive me, I am distracted at present; I scarcely know what I am saying. I desire very much to see your friend. I have longed day and night to see him, because—I cannot tell you why, excepting that I am in great trouble and danger and I need his assistance, which he once placed at my disposal.’