Pushing past the kneeling beggars gathered about the entrance, Ivor passed in to the deep stillness and tranquillity of the grand interior. No service was going on, and the hushed silence was unbroken save for the occasional footsteps of coming or retreating worshippers. The rich glory of colour and ornament, for which Our Lady of Kazan is famous, were half hidden by the gathering on of night; here and there, where a taper gleamed, the sparkle of gems, the reflection of gold, the green of malachite, or the blue of lapis-lazuli would flash out, lost again in the feeble, flickering rays.
Half hidden by one of the great columns, Ivor watched the ever-changing stream of visitors, as they came and went, and fell to speculating upon the nature of the petitions they pleaded so earnestly, throwing themselves on their knees, bowing their heads, beating their breasts, and making unceasingly the sacred symbol upon brow and heart. He did not kneel himself; he would have told you that he had out-grown all such old-world superstitions, but he watched with half-amused, half-sympathetic toleration the rapt devotion of those about him.
Presently a woman, some little distance away, got up from her knees, and, after a moment's hesitation, turned and walked swiftly down the dim aisle. Ivor looked at her without much thought beyond the half-formed one that her long cloak of black serge and closely-veiled bonnet were ill fitted for the heat of that summer evening. As she drew near to him his attention wandered, caught by the trifling incident of a baby's cry, and when his thoughts returned to the heavily-draped figure it had vanished out of sight.
In another moment Ivor also quitted the now dark church and retraced his steps to the Nevski, where fascinated again by the frivolities in the Circassian shop he halted, and returned to the vexed question of Olga's taste in the matter of a gift.
Next door to the Bazaar was a small, rather bare-looking shop, whose only sign of business was the significant one of St. Nicholas' three golden balls. The entrance door was low, and as it opened or shut a tiny bell above the transbeam gave out a warning jangle. It was this bell that aroused Tolskoi's attention and caused him to look up suddenly. As he did so, a tall figure dressed in a thick black serge cloak and close bonnet came out of the low door; the nature of the woman's errand was painfully apparent, for in her hand were two or three coins, over which her head was bent down.
Ivor at once recognised her to be the same woman he had seen in the church of Our Lady of Kazan, not half an hour before, and his interest thus reawakened, he watched her not unkindly.
As she passed him the light wind caught at her long black veil, floating out one end of it; she put up her hand to catch it, turning a little as she did so, and there, in the half lights, partially concealed by the black folds surrounding it, Ivor saw again the face that had haunted him for so many months; the face he had seen wild and haggard and imploring at the great door of St. Isaac's—the face of Adèle Lallovich!
His first impulse in his excitement was to cry out, to speak to her, to stop her further progress, to make her his prisoner by violence if necessary, to force her to accompany him to the Chancellerie. Then as swiftly reason reasserted itself, and he determined to do nothing rash; he had no power to arrest, he would but give her another chance of escape if he raised a street émeute against her. He understood too well the organised power of the Nihilists; at one cry from this woman a dozen defenders would spring to her assistance; she would be rescued before his very eyes, and he should get but a fool's recompense for his pains.
No, what he must do was this. He must follow her adroitly, without arousing her suspicions; he must track her to her place of abode, and when sure of her refuge, send for Patouchki and deliver her into his hands.
The woman walked on swiftly, threading her way deftly between the droschkies and heavier vehicles that thronged the Nevski, and as stealthily as a sleuth-hound, Ivor kept pace behind her. At the door of a good-sized, respectable house she stopped, raised her hand and knocked twice; in an instant the door opened on a cord, and she passed into a narrow passage. The pent-up shadows rushed forward to greet her, and swallowed her up in their dark embrace. Then the door swung to noiselessly, and Ivor was left without, staring vacantly at the non-committal walls and casements.