ing his head.

At the question he merely raised his shaggy brows, replying: "Without
doubt, Herr Graf. Anaesthesia is now used in every enlightened country in
the world. The Herr Doctor has exaggerated its benefits in no
particular."

Gregoriev sank into his place again with a groan of relief. "Operate,
then! Operate at once--to-day, if there be time!"

* * * * *

Prince Michael's desire, which was, in fact, that of his wife also,
since the thing must be gone through, was impractical, owing to the fact
that considerable preparatory work was still necessary. On the first day
of the new month, Weimann made an examination of her heart, which
resulted less satisfactorily than he had hoped. Not until evening did he
finally announce his decision that the administration of chloroform
might be made without undue danger. And after this there were still to
be made those preparations necessary for an operation in the palace:
Michael absolutely refusing his wife's request that she be taken to the
Royal Hospital. Nor was it till the evening of that day--the second of
April--that the unhappy lady wrote Ivan her scarcely deceptive letter:
an act repellent to her, but insisted upon by Michael, who persisted in
maintaining his belief in her ultimate recovery. With what an agony of
yearning to see her boy, to bid him good-bye, the poor soul hung upon
each painfully scrawled word, only those who have lain under the chill
of death can know. From the first she had no hope, and but little
desire, of leaving the dread table alive. Yet she was loath to give
expression to the doubt that might still be hailed by her husband with
his old, scornful mockery.

It was the first time, perhaps, that she had misjudged Michael on the
side of inhumanity. Scorn for her was gone from him now; and so changed
was he that his very servants could not read him. Was it remorse, or
actually some long-latent affection, reawakened under the shadow of
impending loss, that had brought the haggard lines about his mouth, and
dulled the fires of those terrible eyes? Sophia herself asked that
question of the darkness, as she lay the long night through, watching
for what she dreamed of as her last dawn.

The hour of the operation was fixed for one o'clock on the afternoon of
April third. By dawn of that day the whole household was astir,
gravitating, for the first time in many a year, wholly about the bedroom
of the mistress of the hou