Chapter 8

           

           “Dearest,”saidthelittleprincessafterbreakfastonthemorningofthenineteenthMarch,andherdownylittleliprosefromoldhabit,butassorrowwasmanifestineverysmile,thesoundofeveryword,andeveneveryfootstepinthathousesincetheterriblenewshadcome,sonowthesmileofthelittleprincess—influencedbythegeneralmoodthoughwithoutknowingitscause—wassuchastoremindonestillmoreofthegeneralsorrow.

           “Dearest,I’mafraidthismorning’sfruschtique*—asFókathecookcallsit—hasdisagreedwithme.”

           *Frühstück:breakfast.

           “Whatisthematterwithyou,mydarling?Youlookpale.Oh,youareverypale!”saidPrincessMaryinalarm,runningwithhersoft,ponderousstepsuptohersister-in-law.

           “Yourexcellency,shouldnotMaryBogdánovnabesentfor?”saidoneofthemaidswhowaspresent.(MaryBogdánovnawasamidwifefromtheneighboringtown,whohadbeenatBaldHillsforthelastfortnight.)

           “Ohyes,”assentedPrincessMary,“perhapsthat’sit.I’llgo.Courage,myangel.”ShekissedLiseandwasabouttoleavetheroom.

           “Oh,no,no!”Andbesidesthepallorandthephysicalsufferingonthelittleprincess’face,anexpressionofchildishfearofinevitablepainshoweditself.

           “No,it’sonlyindigestion?...Sayit’sonlyindigestion,sayso,Mary!Say...”Andthelittleprincessbegantocrycapriciouslylikeasufferingchildandtowringherlittlehandsevenwithsomeaffectation.PrincessMaryranoutoftheroomtofetchMaryBogdánovna.

           “MonDieu!MonDieu!Oh!”sheheardasshelefttheroom.

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