soul, for whom alone he had done so much, he dreaded lest he should not
find her the same as when he had left her. Suddenly the dining-room door
opened, and Vaninka appeared. Seeing the young man, she uttered a cry,
and, turning to the general, said, "Father, it is Foedor;" and the
expression of her voice left no doubt of the sentiment which inspired
it.

"Foedor!" cried the general, springing forward and holding out his arms.

Foedor did not know whether to throw himself at the feet of Vaninka or
into the arms of her father. He felt that his first recognition ought
to be devoted to respect and gratitude, and threw himself into the
general's arms. Had he acted otherwise, it would have been an avowal of
his love, and he had no right to avow this love till he knew that it was
reciprocated.

Foedor then turned, and as at parting, sank on his knee before Vaninka;
but a moment had sufficed for the haughty girl to banish the feeling she
had shown. The blush which had suffused her cheek had disappeared,
and she had become again cold and haughty like an alabaster statue-a
masterpiece of pride begun by nature and finished by education. Foedor
kissed her hand; it was trembling but cold he felt his heart sink, and
thought he was about to die.

"Why, Vaninka," said the general--"why are you so cool to a friend who
has caused us so much anxiety and yet so much pleasure? Come, Fordor,
kiss my daughter."

Foedor rose entreatingly, but waited motionless, that another permission
might confirm that of the general.

"Did you not hear my father?" said Vaninka, smiling, but nevertheless
possessing sufficient self-control to prevent the emotion she was
feeling from appearing in her voice.

Foedor stooped to kiss Vaninka, and as he held her hands it seemed
to him that she lightly pressed his own with a nervous, involuntary
movement. A feeble cry of joy nearly escaped him, when, suddenly looking
at Vaninka, he was astonished at her pallor: her lips were as white as
death.

The general made Foedor sit down at the table: Vaninka took her place
again, and as by chance she was seated with her back to the light, the
general noticed nothing.

Breakfast passed in relating and listening to an account of this strange
campaign which began under the burning sun of Italy and ended in the
glaciers of Switzerland. As there are no journals in St. Petersburg
which publish anything other than that which is permitted by the
emperor, Souvarow's succe