The maid’s fate had been a strange one.  In one of the districts beyond the Volga lived a noble, a bachelor, luxuriously, caring only for his own amusement.  He fished, hunted, and petted the pretty little daughter of his housekeeper, one of his serfs, whom he vaguely intended to set free.  He passed hours playing with the pretty child, and even had an old French governess come to give her lessons.  She taught little Natasha to dance, to play the piano, to put on the airs and graces of a little lady.  So the years passed, and the old nobleman obeyed the girl’s every whim, and his serfs bowed before her and kissed her hands.  Gracefully and willfully she queened it over the whole household.

Then one fine day the old noble took thought and died.  He had forgotten to liberate his housekeeper and her daughter, and, as he was a bachelor, his estate went to his next of kin, the elder Princess Chechevinski.  Between the brother and sister a cordial hatred had existed, and they had not seen one another for years.

Coming to take possession of the estate, Princess Chechevinski carried things with a high hand.  She ordered the housekeeper to the cow house, and carried off the girl Natasha, as her daughter’s maid, to St. Petersburg, from the first hour letting her feel the lash of her bitter tongue and despotic will.  Natasha had tried in vain to dry her mother’s tears.  With growing anger and sorrow she watched the old house as they drove away, and looking at the old princess she said to herself, “I hate her!  I hate her!  I will never forgive her!”

Princess Anna, bidding her maid good-by, disappeared into the night.  The next morning the old princess learned of the flight.  Already ill, she fell fainting to the floor, and for a long time her condition was critical.  She regained consciousness, tried to find words to express her anger, and again swooned away.  Day and night, three women watched over her, her son’s old nurse, her maid, and Natasha, who took turns in waiting on her.  Things continued thus for forty-eight hours.  Finally, on the night of the third day she came to herself.  It was Natasha’s watch.

“And you knew?  You knew she was going?” the old princess asked her fiercely.

The girl started, unable at first to collect her thoughts, and looked up frightened.  The dim flicker of the night light lit her pale face and golden hair, and fell also on the grim, emaciated face of the old princess, whose eyes glittered feverishly under her thick brows.

“You knew my daughter was going to run away?” repeated the old woman, fixing her keen eyes on Natasha’s face, trying to raise herself from among the lace-fringed pillows.

“I knew,” the girl answered in a half whisper, lowering her eyes in confusion, and trying to throw off her first impression of terror.

“Why did you not tell me before?” the old woman continued, even more fiercely.

Natasha had now recovered her composure, and raising her eyes with an expression of innocent distress, she answered: