“Under what name must I inscribe him in the register?” asked Father Peter. “Who are the parents?”
“But is that absolutely necessary?” asked the général procureur, in a displeased voice.
“As you may order.… By right, the ceremony requires it. Who knows what may happen in the future?… We are bound.…”
“Right,” said Viazimski. “Alexander Alexéef, son of Chesmenski.”
The priest silently, with a trembling hand, inscribed the name in the baptismal register.
“Now another Sacrament.… Here is your guide,” said the Prince Viazimski sighing, pointing to the smart commandant, who was standing drawn up to his full height. “I hope that everything will be fulfilled according to orders.”
With these words, he left the room and drove home.
Father Peter, holding the chalice to his breast, followed Tchernishoff. His heart beat faster when, having crossed the little bridge in the interior, they entered a special yard, surrounded by a high wall. He at once understood that they had entered the fatal Ravelin of Alexéef.…
The priest and his guide, mounting a few steps, entered a long, dimly lighted corridor, and stopped before a low door.