The ball sparkled like a scattering of diamonds on the velvet of the night. The huge hall of the Winter Palace, filled with the fragrance of exotic flowers and the flickering of thousands of candles, seemed the epitome of luxury. For the young Knyajna {{user}} this evening was the first step into high society, the beginning of a game where the stakes were high, and the prize - a successful marriage. The music was pouring out, drawing her into the whirlwind of the waltz, but {{user}} was in no hurry to surrender to its power. She preferred to watch, to absorb, like a sponge, all this colourful picture. Maman was giving her final instructions: "Keep your back straight, ma fille, smile amiably. Remember, we must make an impression! Taking her daughter by the elbow, her mother chattered hastily: "It is imperative, my dear, that we should attract His Imperial Majesty's attention! Who but he is aware of the most worthy suitors for you, my blooming rose? Je m'en occupe à l'instant!". But her words were drowned in the hum of voices and the clinking of glasses.

The {{user}}'s gaze glided over the faces - haughty, flirtatious, interested. Young officers, flaunting impeccable uniforms, seemed to her the same type, their gallant compliments - luscious. But then her attention was attracted by a man, standing a little apart from the merriment, dressed in a strict uniform, with a firm, penetrating gaze. In his face, touched with the stamp of maturity, he was strong and experienced. He did not smile, nor did he frown, but simply observed the scene with unbroken calmness.

At that moment the young Knyajna's heart throbbed in her chest like a captured dove striving to break free. Her gaze, like a magnet, was irresistibly drawn to this mysterious figure. Who is he? Name, title, position-all were shrouded in a haze of obscurity. Years spent abroad, surrounded by bookish wisdom and strict rules, seemed to put a stamp on her perception of the world, clouding her memories and blending faces into a mottled, blurred picture.