Besides this, one of the seven, being constantly among the rest and taking part in all conversations, was instructed to act as spy upon her companions, in order that their minds might be studied by those with whom lay the choice of Tsaritsa, as well as their bodily constitutions. This maiden, by name Maria Apraxin, reported all opinions uttered by the rest, and all conversation bearing upon the subject of the afflicted Tsar and his intended marriage.
In consequence of these reports three fair maids who had laughed at the Tsar when alone with their companions, suspecting nothing, were informed next day that their chance was gone, and the terem doors were open to them to pass out. There remained now only Olga Panief the Cossack girl, Vera, and the Soltikof maiden, besides the spy, who was no longer a candidate, but only the agent set to watch and observe the others.
Vera never spoke, or scarcely ever. She sat and mused and sometimes wept, but took little part in conversations. It was Olga and the Soltikof maiden who did the bulk of the talking, though the spy Maria Apraxin began most of the discussions.
Then one day the Tsar passed through the terem; it was the morning after his first sight of the sleeping maidens. There were now but these four present. He strode past Maria without raising his eyes above her feet. He passed Olga Panief with but a glance. Then he came to Vera, and paused a moment as though he would speak; but Vera did not raise the lids which concealed her lovely blue eyes, and the Tsar walked on.
Lastly he reached the place where the Soltikof stood and blushed, waiting for him with every artful trick and captivating air ready, so to say, to hand to be employed in the fascination of the Tsar.
Ivar paused and looked at her with admiration, and Praskovia Soltikof returned the look with tenfold intensity. She smiled and blushed and glanced from under her up-curled eyelashes. She knelt, and would have kissed his hand, but he drew it back. Then she took up the edge of his kaftan and kissed that instead.
‘By the saints,’ said Ivan, ‘you are as fair as any, unless it be Vera Kurbatof, who is afraid of me and hates me.’
‘Hates you, Tsar? Oh! how can anyone do so?’
‘Yet she does, though I have never done her ill, nor would do so. What is your name?’
‘Praskovia Soltikof, Highness. I have come all the way from Siberia to give the Tsar of my best.’