I plunged at once into my story, telling her—as briefly as I could—of the summons to the Kremlin, and of Sophia’s anger, and of her determination to solve the problem of the lost miniature. While I spoke I saw that Lissa was listening with evident agitation, clinging to her cousin’s arm, but I could not read the thoughts of the princess. She heard me to the end, without the slightest interruption, and once or twice she glanced in the direction of the palace and then back at my face, but her composure was entirely unshaken.
When I had finished my recital Lissa could be restrained no longer; she broke out impetuously, and in a frightened voice.
“It is all my fault, Daria,” she said. “Oh, forgive me! What shall we do? Of course, the fat creature is furious!”
The fat creature! Oh, if Sophia had heard her!
The princess cast an impatient glance at her cousin.
“For myself it does not matter, Lissa,” she said quietly, “and I, too, am to blame—but, look you, here is the good goldsmith in peril for our sakes.”
“I know,” said Lissa, nodding her head at me, “I know—but we must get him out of this trouble.”
“Can you give me the czarevna’s picture, Princess?” I asked. “If you can, I will undertake to straighten the matter for you.”
She looked at me absently, apparently lost in thought.
“Of course, he can have the picture, Daria,” Lissa cried eagerly.