She found, on inquiry, that some papers and letters, which her unhappy brother had drawn up by stealth, in the hope of being able at some time to convey them to his friends, were in the possession of one of the officers, who readily gave them up to her; and with these she returned, half broken-hearted, to St. Petersburgh. If her former journey, when hope cheered her on the way, had been so fearful, what must have been her return? I was not surprised to hear that, on her arrival, she was seized with a dangerous illness, and was for many weeks confined to her bed.
Her story excited much commiseration; and a very general interest and curiosity was excited about herself. She told me that a great many persons of rank invited her to their houses, and made her rich presents, among which were the splendid shawls and the ring, which had caught my attention, and excited my surprise, in the first instance. The Emperor expressed a wish to see her, and very graciously spoke a few words of condolence. "But they could not bring my brother back to life!" said she, expressively. He even presented her to the Empress. "And what," I asked, "did the Empress say to you?" "_Nothing_; but she looked _so_,"--drawing herself up.
On receiving her brother's pardon from the Emperor, she had written home to her family; but she confessed that since that time she had not written--she had not courage to inflict a blow which might possibly affect her mother's life; and yet the idea of being obliged to _tell_ what she dared not write, seemed to strike her with terror.
But the strangest event of this strange story remains to be told; and I will try to give it in her own simple words.