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bleakness of her grandfather’s expression had brought the prickles of apprehension into full bloom, and she asked the question without thought.
    Prince Golitskov sighed and pushed back his chair. “Let us return to the library. It is time to have done with this, I think.” It was the count he was looking at, and Sophie’s own eyes went to the figure beside her.
    â€œThere seems little point in procrastination,” agreed Danilevski, meeting the prince’s gaze before turning to Sophie, the gray eyes calm yet with a hint of something swimming beneath the calm. Was it compassion…regret?
    Sophie shivered, heard her voice as if from a distance, weak and almost pleading. “I don’t understand.”
    â€œLet us go into the library,” repeated the prince, moving with habitual stiffness away from the table.
    Spring nights on the steppes were chilly; a fire had been kindled in the hearth, and oil lamps lit, curtains drawn. Sophie looked around the room in all its familiar warmth and comfort, and the cold shaft of premonition entered her soul.
    â€œI think you had better read the letter for yourself,” theprince said, handing her the document under the imperial seal.
    Sophie turned it over in her hands, studying the seal, for a moment not realizing what it was. She looked at her grandfather in confusion. He told her with slight impatience to open it and read the contents. She did so, but at first the words made no sense, seemed to deepen her confusion. The ticking of the pedestal clock was as loud as a church bell in the quiet room; the crackle of flame, a slipping log, as violently obtrusive as a forest fire. The words danced on the paper, as if they would elude her eyes as their meaning eluded her comprehension. She was aware that her hands were shaking, and she began to walk around the room as she read and reread the script. Activity always calmed her, and as the full import of the document finally became clear, a deep stillness filled her.
    â€œI am not going,” she said quietly, folding the document, holding it out to her grandfather. “It is quite absurd. I am not a piece of property, to be moved, given away. I have never come across anything so ridiculous.” She looked at the prince for confirmation of her words, but what she saw on his face pierced her calm confidence. “You…you understand, Grandpère . You understand why I cannot go?” she said with sudden hesitation.
    â€œI understand only why you must go,” he answered. “Perhaps Count Danilevski would explain the realities to you.”
    â€œHe?” Sophie turned on the count with undisguised contempt. “Why should he explain anything to me? He is a mere errand boy, but this is one errand he will fail to accomplish.”
    â€œMy errand, Princess, is to take charge of you and deliver you in good health to the czarina in St. Petersburg.” Her angry contempt did not annoy him, since he was all too well aware of the truth of their relative positions. “I would, of course, prefer to do that with your agreement.”
    Sophie paled at the unmistakable implication in the flat, unemotional statement. She looked again at the prince. “I am staying here with you. Tell him, Grandpère .”
    The old man shook his head. “You are a subject of HerImperial Majesty, the empress Catherine,” he said briskly, knowing that the slightest indication of his own sorrow and fear for her would do her the greatest disservice. “That document is an imperial command. You must obey it.”
    She looked at him as one would look upon a Judas. “No…no, you cannot mean that.”
    â€œBut I do,” he said. “This summons was bound to come one day—”
    â€œBut you have always said that the court is a place of intrigue and betrayal, that it destroyed my parents, that—”
    â€œYes, I have said all those things.” He interrupted her in his