"Dearest," saidthelittleprincessafterbreakfastonthemorningofthenineteenthMarch, andherdownylittleliprosefromoldhabit, butassorrowwasmanifestineverysmile, thesoundofeveryword, andeveneveryfootstepinthathousesincetheterriblenewshadcome, sonowthesmileofthelittleprincess—influencedbythegeneralmoodthoughwithoutknowingitscause—wassuchastoremindonestillmoreofthegeneralsorrow.

"Dearest, I'mafraidthismorning'sfruschtique [1]—asFokathecookcallsit—hasdisagreedwithme."

"Whatisthematterwithyou, mydarling? , youareverypale!" saidPrincessMaryinalarm, runningwithhersoft, ponderousstepsuptohersister-in-law.

"Yourexcellency, shouldnotMaryBogdanovnabesentfor?" saidoneofthemaidswhowaspresent.(MaryBogdanovnawasamidwifefromtheneighboringtown, whohadbeenatBaldHillsforthelastfortnight.)

"Ohyes," assentedPrincessMary, "perhapsthat'sit.I', myangel." ShekissedLiseandwasabouttoleavetheroom.

"Oh, no, no!" Andbesidesthepallorandthephysicalsufferingonthelittleprincess' face, anexpressionofchildishfearofinevitablepainshoweditself.

"No, it'sonlyindigestion?...Sayit'sonlyindigestion, sayso, Mary! Say..." .

"MonDieu! MonDieu! Oh!" sheheardasshelefttheroom.

Themidwifewasalreadyonherwaytomeether, rubbinghersmall, plumpwhitehandswithanairofcalmimportance.

"MaryBogdanovna, Ithinkit'sbeginning!" saidPrincessMarylookingatthemidwifewithwide-openeyesofalarm.

"Well, theLordbethanked, Princess," saidMaryBogdanovna, nothasteninghersteps."Youyoungladiesshouldnotknowanythingaboutit."