The meeting was prolonged far into the night. Happy conjectures now took the place of the gloomy ones, and Maria Stefanowna was the heroine of the hour. As soon as she felt quite convinced that her plan had been approved of, and that there was no more danger of her father reimposing his dark views upon them, she left them, followed by their cheers and blessings, to pray quietly in her own room that the rest of her plan might turn out as successfully as the beginning.
Far away in a foreign though hospitable land, in a hotel and surrounded by strangers, this same comrade of theirs was hovering between life and death in the throes of an acute brain fever. The strain had been too great; the aching brain refused to bear any further burden. And the compromising papers—the fated candlesticks; where were they now? In whose hands would they fall? Would, after all this plucky fighting, the victory remain in other hands, and if so, would God grant that they were not the hands of deadliest enemies?
CHAPTER XVIII.
It was about a week later, that Nicholas Alexandrovitch, wearied by long captivity, was surprised late one evening to find on his supper-table a neatly folded silk handkerchief, together with a letter addressed to himself. Any news to a prisoner is always good news. He tore the envelope open with eager alacrity, and read with amazement the following brief communication:—
“If Nicholas Alexandrovitch will securely tie round his face the accompanying handkerchief, and allow, without resistance, some persons to lead him out of his present abode into a fiaker, he will find himself restored to complete liberty. The persons entrusted to accompany Nicholas Alexandrovitch will wait upon him one hour after midnight.”
It would have been more than folly to allow foolish pride to stand in the way of possible escape. The thought that this might be some dangerous trap flashed through his mind, only to be instantly dismissed; had his gaolers wished to do him further bodily harm, or to remove him to some other place of safety, they had every power to do so without the preliminary farce of apprising him of their intentions, or of requesting him to blindfold his own eyes.
One hour after midnight he was ready, the handkerchief tied round his face. He heard the door open and the sound of several footsteps; then he felt his hands taken hold of by some powerful grip, and was led through the room and down the stone stairs he had climbed a fortnight ago with such buoyancy of spirit. Evidently he was under heavy escort, for it seemed to him that someone was walking in front of him and someone behind, whilst on each side a third and fourth guardian held each of his wrists in a relentless grip.
He was helped into a fiaker, still blindfold and his wrists still tightly held, and after about a quarter of an hour’s drive the vehicle stopped, the doors were opened, and Nicholas Alexandrovitch was helped to alight. It seemed to him that the hold on his wrists slackened, then was released altogether; the next moment he heard the doors of the fiaker slammed to, and the vehicle start off at a breathless gallop. He realised that he was free, and alone, and rapidly tore the handkerchief away from his face. He looked round him bewildered. The street in which he was, was long and deserted—a row of houses, all built on the same pattern, not very brilliantly lighted, not a soul in sight, but in the far distance the now fast disappearing fiaker, a mere speck, which also was soon lost to view.
As if in a dream, and not knowing where he was, the Tsarevitch walked on for a little while at random, hoping to emerge soon on some more busy thoroughfare. Presently he met one or two passers-by, from whom he asked directions as to the best means of finding a vehicle at this hour of the morning, he being a stranger in the city and having lost his way.
The information was given him, and five minutes later Nicholas Alexandrovitch found himself once more in a fiaker, this time being driven rapidly in the direction of the Hotel Impérial.