"Alas, sire, I have nothing! Yesterday I had thirty thousand rubles, produced by the sale of all I possessed, but even that little fortune was stolen from me."
"I know it. By a forged letter. It was more than a theft, it was a sacrilege; and, should its perpetrator be detected, he shall be punished as though he had broken open the poor-box in a church. But there are means of repairing your loss?"
"How, sire?"
"Inform his family of the circumstance. They are rich, and will assist you."
"I thank your Majesty; but I desire no assistance save that of God."
"But without funds how can you travel? Have you no friends who would help you?"
"Pardon me, sire, but I am too proud to borrow what I could never repay. By selling what little property I have left, I shall raise two or three hundred rubles."
"Scarcely sufficient for a quarter of the journey. Do you know the distance from here to Tobolsk, my poor girl?"
"Yes, sire—about eight hundred French leagues."
"And how will you get over the five or six hundred leagues you will still have to travel when your last ruble is spent?"