“Father, tell me how it happened,” she asked through her tears.

“Go! Go! Killed in battle, where the best of Russian men and Russia’s glory were led to destruction. Go, Princess Márya. Go and tell Liza. I will follow.”

When Princess Márya returned from her father, the little princess sat working and looked up with that curious expression of inner, happy calm peculiar to pregnant women. It was evident that her eyes did not see Princess Márya but were looking within⁠ ⁠… into herself⁠ ⁠… at something joyful and mysterious taking place within her.

“Marie,” she said, moving away from the embroidery frame and lying back, “give me your hand.” She took her sister-in-law’s hand and held it below her waist.

Her eyes were smiling expectantly, her downy lip rose and remained lifted in childlike happiness.

Princess Márya knelt down before her and hid her face in the folds of her sister-in-law’s dress.