Then she ventured into the portion of the city which was actually occupied by French troops, and even penetrated close to the outer wall of the Kremlin enclosure itself.
A dozen times she was accosted by soldiers, none too politely, but in each case Vera successfully eluded her impudent admirers and proceeded upon her way, pursued by remarks which, if she had attended to or even heard them, would have caused her cheeks to flush; but her mind was fully occupied and she heard nothing.
Close to the Great Arch of the Kremlin she was startled to hear the sound of shots many times repeated. She hesitated before entering the Kremlin enclosure; dared she penetrate thus into the very heart of the occupied quarters?
A group of Russians, old men mostly, hawkers of lemon drinks and of prianniki, or biscuits, presently came hurrying out into the street, chattering and crossing themselves, a few French soldiers chasing them through the archway out of the Kremlin.
"Bóje moy, it is horrible!" she heard an old man exclaim; "I shall dream of it!"
Vera accosted him. "What is it, father? What has happened?" she asked.
"What has happened?" said the old fellow crossing himself and looking round to see whether the French soldiers listened, "Why, murder has happened; the shedding of good Russian blood; butchery I call it! Did you not hear the shots? A dozen of them, all shot down one after another by these most damnable foreigners! As if they have not shed blood enough already, Russian blood too, which is the holiest of all and the best!"
"Yes, but whose blood is this you speak of? who has been shot?" asked Vera, her heart feeling like lead.
"Why, Russians; good patriotic fellows who had done nothing worse than attempt to burn down the great palace with the French Tsar inside it—would to God they had succeeded! Well, they were caught and shot, a dozen or more of them."
"All shot—every one of them?" Vera asked faintly. "Are you sure that all were shot?"