first tell them to harness the horses. I am going to Claudia Nikolaievna's.”
Once outside her rooms the bright daylight made her blink; and she smiled with pleasure — the day was wonderfully fine. She looked through her blinking eyes at the monks who crowded on the steps to see her oft; she nodded her head kindly and said —
“Good-bye, my friends! For two days only!”
It was a pleasant surprise also that the doctor came to see her off. His face was pale and severe.
“Princess!” he began, with a guilty smile, taking off his hat. “I have been waiting for you. . . . Forgive me. . . . An evil, revengeful feeling carried me away last night, and I talked . . . nonsense to you. . . . I ask your pardon!”
The princess again smiled kindly, and offered her hand. The doctor kissed it, and reddened.
Doing her best to look like a bird, the princess swept into the carriage, and nodded her head to all. In her heart again reigned joy, warmth, and brightness ; and she felt that her smile was more than ever caressing and tender. As the carriage rolled through the yard, then by the dusty road past huts and gardens, past long carters' teams, past strings of pilgrims on their way to prayer, she continued to blink and smile. What greater joy, she reflected, than to bring with oneself warmth and light and comfort, to forgive offences, to smile kindly to foes. The road-side
