"That is impossible. In the State Archives is a ukase of Czar Alexander to the effect that only women descending from reigning families may be raised to the imperial throne, and the descendants of those who are not of royal birth may not inherit the throne."
"Then when I—which Heaven forbid—come to the throne I will promulgate another ukase annulling that one."
"But there is a further obstacle, which not even the Czar's ukase can overcome. Your Highness is aware that a woman may not ascend the imperial throne unless she be of the Orthodox faith. Does your Highness believe that Johanna Grudzinska would abjure the Roman Catholic faith for a crown?"
"Not for all the crowns in Europe! The heart of that woman is so stanch that she would scarce change a horse grown old in her service for a young one! Still less would she change her religion. I would not advise any one to try it on her."
"And there is yet another still greater obstacle than even that of religion—society. Is St. Petersburg society to be exiled from the Czar's palace? Johanna Grudzinska may be a very angel of light, but she would by no means make a Czarina whom the Ghedimins, Narishkins, Trubetzuois, Muravieffs, and whatever all their names may be, would be willing to acknowledge to stand on a par with themselves, still less to whom they may pay allegiance."
"Then let them keep it."
"What does your Highness mean by that?"
"A very simple meaning. Let them keep their crown. I keep my wife!"
"Your Highness does not mean that in earnest?"
"In thorough earnest and in cold blood," said the Grand Duke, laying his hand on Araktseieff's arm. "All my life through I had never known what it was to be loved. I verily believe that the nurse who nursed me thrashed me for being such a piece of deformity. Not even a dog have I ever been able to attach to me. Look where I will, I see that every one shrinks back from me. My very voice, which I try in vain to moderate, is rough and grating, as if I were perpetually scolding. I have never heard an endearing epithet since I was out of the nursery. And suddenly Fate, like a blind hen, casts in my way a pearl of women, a tender soul who loves me with all her being. She does not say it, she feels it—nay, she lets me feel it. She lives in me like the very soul and thought of me. The little good there is in me she awakens and makes me reconciled to myself. She alone of all the world has brought sunshine into my dark life. When I am ill she nurses me; when I am violent she pacifies me. She is my better self! And do you believe that I would renounce her for any prize the earth could give? That for any throne in the whole world I would exchange this easy-chair where she has sat nestling up to me? Ah, what fools you must be to think it!"