She never mentioned the name of Boris in his presence, for it was
sure to throw him into a paroxysm of fury. Floating rumors in
regard to the young Prince had reached him from the capital, and
nothing would convince him that his wife was not cognizant of her
son's doings. The poor Princess clung to her boy as to all that
was left her of life, and tried to prop her failing strength with
the hope of his speedy return. She was now too helpless to thwart
his wishes in any way; but she dreaded, more than death, the
terrible SOMETHING which would surely take place between father
and son if her conjectures should prove to be true.
One day, in the early part of November, she received a letter from
Boris, announcing his marriage. She had barely strength and
presence of mind enough to conceal the paper in her bosom
before sinking in a swoon. By some means or other the young Prince
had succeeded in overcoming all the obstacles to such a step:
probably the favor of the Empress was courted, in order to obtain
her consent. The money he had received, he wrote, would be
sufficient to maintain them for a few months, though not in a style
befitting their rank.
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