“Now go, go, you little rascals; Anne will give my greetings to Mishka.”
The sunbeam vanished. The room grew dark, damp and cold. A crow cawed just under the very window. Again the hammer was heard; the last of the risen gods were being nailed up and ensconced in their coffins.
Peter sat down to a game of chess with Bruce. He usually played well, but to-day he was absent-minded. He lost his queen after the fourth move.
“I checkmate with the queen,” said Bruce.
“Your Majesty’s—a fool,” cried the parrot.
Peter happened to lift his eyes, again saw Mons and Catherine reflected in the same glass. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not notice how a little monkey, like a little devil, had crept up to them from behind, and, making a waggish grimace, stretched out one paw to lift the bottom of Catherine’s dress.
Peter jumped up and with his foot overturned the chess-board, scattering the pieces over the floor. He dropped his pipe, it broke and spilled its burning ashes. Bruce jumped up in terror. Catherine and Mons turned round, attracted by the noise. At this moment Mary Hamilton entered the room. She walked as in a dream, as it were hearing and seeing nothing. Passing the Tsar she slightly inclined her head and looked fixedly at him. Her beautiful lifeless face, which struck the beholder with chill, made her resemble one of those goddesses who were being nailed up in their coffins.
The Tsar followed her with his eyes till she had disappeared behind the door; then, turning to Bruce and the overturned chess-board, he said in apologetic tones:—
“Forgive me, Bruce, it was an accident!”
He left the palace, stepped into his boat, and went to rest on the yacht.