§12
Before we had nearly done telling our own experiences and listening to those of our friends, the adjutants began to bustle about, the garrison officers stood up straight, and the policemen came to attention; then the door opened solemnly, and little Prince Golitsyn entered en grande tenue with his ribbon across his shoulder; Tsinski was in Household uniform; and even Oranski had put on something special for the joyful occasion—a light green costume, between uniform and mufti. Staal, of course, was not there.
The officers now divided us into three groups. Sokolovski, an artist called Ootkin, and Ibayev formed the first group; I and my friends came next, and then a miscellaneous assortment.
The first three, who were charged with treason, were sentenced to confinement at Schlüsselburg[[76]] for an unlimited term.
[76]. A prison-fortress on an island in the Neva, forty miles from Petersburg.
In order to show his easy, pleasant manners, Tsinski asked Sokolovski, after the sentence was read, “I think you have been at Schlüsselburg before?” “Yes, last year,” was the immediate answer; “I suppose I knew what was coming, for I drank a bottle of Madeira there.”