Zeneida's audience was appointed for the next day. It was the Czar's usual habit, on leaving Monplaisir at five in the afternoon, to pass a short time at the Hermitage, which stood near the Winter Palace and had been a favorite resort of Catherine II. His library here, where he transacted business, was furnished very simply. Hither were brought to him the letters which came by the Sophien post. The apartment was now reserved to Araktseieff's use, who sat there from morning to evening settling, on his own responsibility, the affairs of the vast empire in the name of the Czar. Matters of home and foreign policy, religion, education, trade, finance, all were dependent on his sole will; ministers and stadt holders alike his puppets. Alexander would take no part in anything—signing, unread, whatever Araktseieff laid before him. Those drafts laid aside by him were mere waste paper.
To-day, too, found the favorite hard at work at the Czar's own writing-table, Alexander restlessly pacing the room, for Fräulein Ilmarinen alone had been granted audience that day.
Zeneida presented herself at the appointed hour. She was dressed in deep mourning, her golden hair forming a striking contrast to her sombre attire.
The Czar advanced to meet her, but received her with marked coldness.
Araktseieff feigned not to see her; did not lift his eyes from the papers before him.
"Fräulein Ilmarinen," said Alexander, "you desired to speak with me personally. You may speak."
"Will your Majesty forgive the boldness of my request, but I have papers to place before you which the owner intrusted to me on sole condition that I delivered them personally into your own hands. These papers form the diary of the late Princess Sophie Narishkin!"
With a deep sigh the Czar exclaimed, "Poor child!" his voice trembling with agitation.
"It was her last wish, and I must fulfil it."