The moment the last man had stepped across the threshold of the dressing-room, I took Alexander by the arm and drew, or rather dragged, him out into the corridor, and down the great staircase of the Palace.
We passed out unquestioned. It did not occur to one of the men whom we found outside that Masileff could have missed his prey.
My uniform was enough to disarm suspicion, for it was that of a regiment in which every man had sworn on the Gospel not to let Alexander escape alive. My agent had served me well.
We found him at the station. The special train was ready, with steam up, waiting for the signal to place us in safety on the soil of Austria.
I made Alexander take his seat in the meanest compartment, while I waited outside the station for the appearance of the two women.
I waited a long time.
From the town, all buried in darkness, there came sounds of tumult and exultation, which must have shaken the heart of the young man in the train.
It was not till I had been there for nearly three-quarters of an hour that I saw one female form creeping feebly along the road towards the station.
I darted out to meet her, and uttered an oath.
Anna Petrovitch fell weeping into my arms, with the doleful cry: ‘Queen Draga is dead! Queen Draga is dead!’