Mademoiselle Bourienne had long been waiting for a Russian prince who, able to appreciate at a glance her superiority to the plain, badly dressed, ungainly Russian princesses, would fall in love with her and carry her off; and here at last was a Russian prince.

Mademoiselle Bourienne knew a story, heard from her aunt but finished in her own way, which she liked to repeat to herself.

It was the story of a girl who had been seduced, and to whom her poor mother (sa pauvre mere) appeared, and reproached her for yielding to a man without being married.

Mademoiselle Bourienne was often touched to tears as in imagination she told this story to him, her seducer.

And now he, a real Russian prince, had appeared.