if anyone knew how little anything matters to me now,” she said. “Of course I would on no account wish to go away from him. … Alpátych did say something about going. … Speak to him; I can do nothing, nothing, and don’t want to. …”
“I’ve spoken to him. He hopes we should be in time to get away tomorrow, but I think it would now be better to stay here,” said Mademoiselle Bourienne. “Because, you will agree, chère Marie , to fall into the hands of the soldiers or of riotous peasants would be terrible.”
Mademoiselle Bourienne took from her reticule a proclamation (not printed on ordinary Russian paper) of General Rameau’s, telling people not to leave their homes and that the French authorities would afford them proper protection. She handed this to the princess.
“I think it would be best to appeal to that general,” she continued, “and I am sure that all due respect would be shown you.”
Princess Márya read the paper, and her face began to quiver with stifled sobs.
“From whom did you get this?” she asked.
“They probably recognized that I am French, by my name,” replied Mademoiselle Bourienne blushing.
Princess Márya, with the paper in her hand, rose from the window and with a pale face went out of the room and into what had been Prince Andréy’s study.
“Dunyásha, send Alpátych, or Drónushka, or somebody to me!” she said, “and tell Amálya Karlóvna not to come to me,” she added, hearing Mademoiselle Bourienne’s voice. “We must go at once, at once!” she said, appalled at the thought of being left in the hands of the French.
“If Prince Andréy heard that I was in the power