“The Pretender is now in our hands. The will of our Sovereign has been fulfilled, and the prisoner will soon sail for the north. There’ll be enough inquiries set on foot; they’ll dig down to the very roots.… All that’s not the work of foreigners alone. I think there’ll be mixed up in this not a few of our own travellers. In the papers of that liar there are not a few well-known signatures.…”
“Yes, you’re rejoicing; there’ll be again new arrests, again inquiries,” thought I. “And yourself, what did you do, stony-hearted man?”
“Why don’t you say something?” asked the count.
“The whole town is in agitation; there are mobs, screams, threats. Have a care, count,” I added, unable to conceal my disgust; “this is not Russia.… You might get a stab when least expecting it.”
“Ah, well, my fine fellow,” said he frowning, “whoever touches you or any other of ours, or even threatens, just point to the sea.… Seven hundred cannon, all sweeping the whole shore. I’ve only to raise my hand, and the whole town will be level and clear. There, go now, and tell every one that, and add that I fear no one.…”
“Braggart!” thought I to myself, shivering with rage.
I left the count without opening my mouth, and without even a bow.