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Harvest wagons rolled past, bright yellow against the blue sky. The count turned carelessly toward his nephew, nodded to him, and then immediately looked out of the window again. "Good morning, Boris," he said; "you wanted to speak to me: very well, be seated, please." When Boris had seated himself, it was quite still in the room.
Adrian II proved no more sympathetic, and in 870, during the reign of the Emperor Basil I, it was decided without more ado that the Bulgarian Church should be directly under the Bishop of Constantinople, on the ground that the kingdom of Boris was a vassal-state of the basileus, and that from the Byzantine point of view, as opposed to that of Rome, the State came first and the Church next.
"No, listen," continued Boris, and his whispers became strangely hot and passionate, "if you but will. I am afraid of tomorrow, when it grows gray and bright and we must do something and must be burdened with care, and people will come and everything will be so ugly, the others and we, and our love, O Billy, I have never been able to endure the first morning after such a happiness "
And so Fred went through the tunnel again, this time with Boris. He wondered if he would ever see this place again. Both boys were startled when they reached the open air again to observe how the din of the battle to the east had increased. They paused for a moment to stare at one another. "That is real war," said Boris. "Not like the skirmish here when the Cossacks came."
I shall be delighted, my dear Boris," he added, turning to Sipiagin, "to tell the minister of your noble action. But with whom is this Nejdanov staying at the factory?" Sipiagin frowned. "With a certain Mr. Solomin, the chief engineer there, Mr. Paklin says." It seemed to afford Sipiagin some peculiar pleasure in tormenting poor Sila.
The festival, to be sure, would have been a slight expenditure for a noble of such immense wealth as Prince Alexis; but he never liked his wife, and he took a stubborn pleasure in thwarting her wishes. It was no satisfaction that Boris resembled her in character.
Such, in brief, was the story with which Demetrius convinced the court of Poland, and not a few who had known the boy at Uglich came forward now to identify with him the grown man, who carried in his face so strong a resemblance to Ivan the Terrible. That story which Boris now heard was soon heard by all Russia, and Boris realized that something must be done to refute it.
The score of Boris, slim as it is, is a treasure house of inventions, of some of the most perfect music written for the theater. Few operatic works are musically more important, and yet less pretentious. And "Khovanchtchina," fragmentary though it is, is almost no less full of noble and lovely ideas.
The brownie's honest face was raised to Molly's; his brown eyes were full of a question; the fairy by his side had a far-away look. They both floated away. "Oh, what a charming little pair," said Mrs. Fortescue, Molly's friend. "Do you know who they are, Miss Lorrimer?" "That poor, hot brownie is my brother, Boris," exclaimed Molly; "and that little girl is Nell, my sister."
In more peaceful times she would again confide the details of her life to Natalie Ivanovna as before; but in a crisis she went to Tatiana Markovna, sent for Tushin, or sought help from her cousin Boris. Now she put the letters in her pocket, found her aunt, and sat down beside her. "What has happened, Vera? You are upset." "Not upset, but worried. I have received letters, from there."
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