CHAPTER XXVI.
THE VISITORS’ QUEST.
Father Peter retired to his chamber, drew the curtains, put the candle on the night-table, threw himself without undressing on the bed, unrolled the crumpled manuscript of blue foreign note-paper with gilt edges, and began reading. He did not close his eyes till morning.
The whole history of the Princess Tarakanova, or Princess Wladimirskaya, of which Father Peter had only heard the most contradictory rumours, was now open to him, with unexpected details.
“Ah! that is what it is about,” he thought, on reading the first lines; “about the mysterious Princess.”
Sometimes he would leave off reading the manuscripts, and lie with closed eyes, then again begin to read. “And where now is that poor unfortunate, betrayed girl?” he asked himself, on reading the incident of Livorno. “Where is she now dragging out her miserable existence? And he, who wrote these lines, was he saved?”
One candle after another burnt out. Father Peter finished the manuscript, snuffed out the last little piece of candle, and began walking up and down on the drugget. He went on walking till dawn reminded him that he had not slept all night. “What events! ah! what events! What an unfortunate tissue of incidents!” whispered the priest. “Poor martyr! May God help her!”
The blackbird in the cage woke up, and seeing the very unusual promenade of its master, set up a loud unwonted scream.