‘Pooh!’ said Sophia, interrupting. ‘Lay her down here on the landing, and go, someone, for Drury, the Court physician.’
When this Englishman came he soon pronounced Doonya well enough, looking hard at Kostromsky the while, whereupon Galitsin, suspecting the family doctor, pulled the wig from his head and revealed Kostromsky, whom both he and the Regent knew well.
The issue of the matter was unfortunate for both the conspirators, for her Highness treated them with severity, in order to deter other fools, as she said, from behaving in a similar fashion. Poor Doonya was taken straight to the flog-room, where she tasted of the knout and was then thrust back into the terem, to be laughed at or pitied by her companions, according to their dispositions.
But as for Kostromsky—whom, as it happened, Galitsin hated because he was a Petrofsky, or follower of young Tsar Peter—a strange fate was reserved for him.
‘Why have you done this thing, fool?’ Galitsin asked the poor youth, when Doonya was led weeping away to her punishment.
‘She is my nevéysta (fiancée),’ said Kostromsky boldly; ‘do not dare to have her flogged, Galitsin, or I swear that one day I will have revenge.’
‘What!’ exclaimed the Regent Sophia, ‘you would marry—is that it?’
‘I both would marry and will, Highness,’ said Kostromsky.
‘He speaks truth,’ laughed Sophia. ‘Here, one of you, go fetch a priest, he shall be married at once: take the nyanka, some of you, and dress her for bride. Lord, if the fool is anxious to be married, he shall have his way!’
In vain did poor Kostromsky entreat, threaten, blaspheme—the Regent had no reply but laughter; and sure enough, before the hour was out, this youth—and a handsome youth, too—and this hag of seventy were man and wife—so far, at least, as the ministrations of a priest of the Orthodox Church could make them so.