Some of the old peasants say that Sava, father of the young peasant girl, who stands by the side of an old woman, at the head of her companions in the court-yard, is immured in one of these subterranean jails.  Sava was always about the Count, who, it was said, had brought him from some distant land, with his little motherless child.  Sava placed her under the care of an old man and woman, who had the charge of the bees in a forest near the palace, where he came occasionally to visit her.  But once, six long months passed, and he did not come!  In vain Anielka wept, in vain she cried, “Where is my father?” No father appeared.  At last it was said that Sava had been sent to a long distance with a large sum of money, and had been killed by robbers.  In the ninth year of one’s life the most poignant grief is quickly effaced, and after six months Anielka ceased to grieve.  The old people were very kind to her, and loved her as if sue were their own child.  That Anielka might be chosen to serve in the palace never entered their head, for who would be so barbarous as to take the child away from an old woman of seventy and her aged husband?

To-day was the first time in her life that she had been so far from home.  She looked curiously on all she saw,—­particularly on a young lady about her own age, beautifully dressed, and a youth of eighteen, who had apparently just returned from a ride on horse-back, as he held a whip in his hand, whilst walking up and down examining the boys who were placed in a row before him.  He chose two amongst them, and the boys were led away to the stables.

“And I choose this young girl,” said Constantia Roszynski, indicating Anielka; “she is the prettiest of them all.  I do not like ugly faces about me.”

When Constantia returned to the drawing-room, she gave orders for Anielka to be taken to her apartments, and placed under the tutelage of Mademoiselle Dufour, a French maid, recently arrived from the first milliner’s shop in Odessa.  Poor girl! when they separated her from her adopted mother, and began leading her toward the palace, she rushed, with a shriek of agony, from them, and grasped her old protectress tightly in her arms!  They were torn violently asunder, and the Count Roszynski quietly asked, “Is it her daughter, or her grand-daughter?”

“Neither, my lord,—­only an adopted, child.”

“But who will lead the old woman home, as she is blind?”

“I will, my lord,” replied one of his servants, bowing to the ground; “I will let her, walk by the side of my horse, and when she is in her cabin she will have her old husband,—­they must take care of each other.”

So saying, he moved away with the rest of the peasants and domestics.  But the poor old woman had to be dragged along by two men; for in the midst of her shrieks and tears she had fallen to the ground, almost without life.