The stranger drew from his girdle a linen package carefully folded, kissed it reverently, and said:
"Would the Princess Irene be pleased if I open the favor for her?"
The voice was manly, the manner deferential.
"Is it a letter?" she asked.
"A letter from the Holy Father, the Archimandrite of the greatest of the northern Lavras." [Footnote: Monasteries.]
"Its name?"
"Bielo-Osero."
"The Bielo-Osero? Where is it?"
"In the country of the Great Prince." [Footnote: Russia.]
"I knew not that I had an acquaintance in so distant a region as the north of Russia. You may open the letter."