“I will accompany your Highness to the palace,” said the stranger with elaborate politeness and a cringing bow; “have I your permission?”
Pavel slightly glanced at the tawdry cotton-velvet bespangled costume of the wizard, looking so shabby in the morning light, and taking off his mask, without saying one word more, strode gloomily and proudly along the deserted shore.
“Poor sorrowing Penelope! unfortunate lovely Irena!” thought he. “No one has been able to solve that anguishful enigma—neither ministers, nor knights, nor ambassadors; let us send her the myrtle leaf of the Italian wizard and juggler.”
CHAPTER XXXV.
FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER.
Fifteen years had passed away; the year 1796 was drawing to its end. It was in the beginning of the reign of Pavel I. All Petersburg was hailing joyfully the liberation of the celebrated Novikoff from the fortress, and the return from Siberia of Radischeff. The emperor, with his august consort and several courtiers, went to visit the fortress of Petropavlovski. The chief of the police, Arharoff, asked the emperor if he would not like to visit the Ravelin of Alexéef, where great alterations and repairs were taking place. One of the dungeons attracted the attention of the Imperial visitors.
“Were any Italians ever confined here?” asked the emperor of the commandant.
“Never, your Highness; only schismatics.”
“Well, look here,” and the Emperor pointed to the window, “here’s an inscription on the glass, cut with a diamond. ‘O, Dio mio.’”