This time, too, they sat down to poker.
Vera, who was not playing, was about to go out on to the terrace, where the table was being set for tea, when the housemaid, looking rather mysterious, suddenly called her from the drawing- room.
"What is it, Dasha?" asked Princess Vera in annoyance, passing into her little study next to the bedroom. "Why are you staring at me so stupidly?
And what are you holding there?"
Dasha put en the table a small square object, neatly wrapped in white paper and tied by a pink ribbon.
"It isn't my fault, Your Highness, honest to God," she stammered, blushing offendedly. "He came in and said — "
"Who is he ?"
"A messenger boy, Your Highness."
"Well?"
"He came into the kitchen and put this on the table.
'Give it to your mistress,' he said.
'Only,' he says, 'be sure to hand it to her personally.
"Who's it from?' I asked.
'It's written here,' he said.
And then he ran away."
"Go and bring him back."
"Oh, but I couldn't do that, Your Highness.
He came when you were in the middle of dinner, so I didn't dare to disturb you.
It must have been half an hour ago."
"All right, you may go."
She cut the ribbon with scissors and threw it into the waste-basket along with the paper bearing her address.
Under the wrapping she found a small jeweller's box of red plush, apparently fresh from the shop.
She raised the lid, which was lined with light-blue silk, and saw, stuck into the black velvet, an oval gold bracelet, and inside it a note carefully folded into a neat octagon.
Quickly she unfolded the paper.
She thought she knew the handwriting, but, woman that she was, she put aside the note to take a look at the bracelet.
It was of low-standard gold, very thick but hollow and studded on the outside with small, poorly polished old garnets.
But in the centre there arose, surrounding a strange small green stone, five excellent cabochon garnets, each the size of a pea.
As Vera happened to turn the bracelet at a lucky angle under the electric light, beautiful crimson lights flashed suddenly, deep under the smooth egg-shaped surface of the stones.
"It's like blood!" Vera thought with apprehension.
Then she recalled the letter.
It was written in an elegant hand and ran as follows:
"Your Highness, Princess Vera Nikolayevna,
"Respectfully congratulating you on your bright and happy birthday, I take the liberty of sending to you my humble offering."
"Oh, so that's who it is," Vera said to herself resentfully.
But she read the letter to the end.
"I should never have dared to offer you a present of my own choice, for I have neither the right, nor the refined taste, nor, to be frank, the money to do so.
Moreover, I believe there is no treasure on earth worthy of adorning you.
"But this bracelet belonged to my great-grandmother, and my late mother was the last to wear it.
In the middle, among the bigger stones, you will see a green one.
It is a very rare stone — a green garnet.
We have an old family tradition that this stone enables the women who wear it to foresee the future, and keeps off unhappy thoughts, and protects men from violent death.
"All the stones have been carefully transferred from the old, silver bracelet, and you may rest assured that no one has worn this bracelet before you.
"You may at once throw away this absurd trinket, or present it to someone else; I shall be happy to know that your hands have touched it.
"I beseech you not to be angry with me.
I blush to remember my audacity of seven years ago, when I dared write to you, a young lady, stupid and wild letters, and even had the assurance to expect an answer to them.
Today I have nothing for you but awe, everlasting admiration and the humble devotion of a slave.
All that I can do now is to wish you perpetual happiness and to rejoice if you are happy.
In my mind I bow deeply to the, chair on which you sit, the floor you tread, the trees which you touch in passing, the servants to whom you speak.
I no longer presume to envy those people or things.
"Once again I beg your pardon for having bothered you with a long, useless letter.