He rode one day, he rode two days, he rode three days, till he came to a plain whereon a numerous army, with weapons broken and scattered, lay dead and dying. Sitting on his horse he cried aloud: "If there be one man here left alive, let him answer me. Who hath routed this great host?" And one man whose life was yet in him replied where he lay: "These thousand stout warriors, O Tzarevich, were beaten by Maria Morevna, daughter of three mothers, granddaughter of six grandmothers, sister of nine brothers, the beautiful Tzar's daughter." And saying this he died.
Tzarevich Alexis rode on, till at length he came to a multitude of white tents pitched by the way, from the finest of which the lovely Maria Morevna came forth to greet him. "Health to thee, Tzarevich," she said. "Whither dost thou ride? Is it by thine own will, or against it?"
Tzarevich Alexis replied: "Brave men, Tzarevna, ride not anywhere against their will."
The beautiful Tzar's daughter was pleased with his answer. "Well," she said, "if thy business be not pressing, I pray thee stay awhile as my guest."
Tzarevich Alexis, nothing loath, dismounted and remained the guest of Maria Morevna, and before two days had passed they had fallen deeply in love
