In the villa shaded by aromatic pines the bride elect awaited the happy day. No longer a prisoner, condemned to lifelong imprisonment. For the hardest imprisonment of all is sickness; one is made to hear at every step, "Oh, don't run! Don't sing! You must not drink water! Keep your shawl about your throat! Do not eat this! Mind you don't take cold! Don't get overheated!"
Even the doctor stays away. The panacea has done wonders.
The lovely month of roses had come. The bridegroom had had the path along which Sophie was to walk planted with roses, and the happy girl collected the blossoms, morning and evening, that not a single leaf might fall to the ground. Why did she do this? When the leaves were dry she meant to fill a silken cushion with them. Sleep would be so sweet on such a cushion.
She was even now spreading out her leaves on the sunny side of the veranda, singing to herself as she did so. No one forbade her to sing now; it was allowed; only old Helenka grumbled out the adage, "Sing on Friday, cry on Sunday." But Sophie is accustomed to laugh at such wise saws from her old nurse. Who believes in such superstitious omens nowadays? When all of a sudden good old Helenka sighed out, anxiously:
"Holy Maria! St. Anna! What brings her here?"
And without another word she ran off, to avoid the new-comer.
Sophie, looking up wonderingly, saw a lady of striking beauty coming down the garden path. She wore a dress of gay-colored embroidery, a bird of paradise in her bonnet, and upon her shoulders was a costly cashmere shawl. At sight of the stranger's seductive beauty Sophie felt a mysterious shudder pass through her frame; her heart seemed to stop beating. She began to believe again in omens.
The stranger came alone, and at an hour too early for ladies, as a rule, to be out. Without hesitation she ascended the veranda steps, like one who knew the house well.
As she reached Sophie she raised her hand with the gesture of one expecting to have it kissed, saying, in a low voice, as she did so:
"I am Princess Ghedimin!"