“But, oh! Batiushka Alexis Gregorevitch, you oversalted, oversalted it,” said the empress, producing her snuff-box, and slowly taking a pinch.
“In what, your Majesty?”
“In that certain little affair,” smilingly answered Ekaterina, menacing him with her finger.
Orloff noticed the smile, but at the same time, in that very same joke, he noticed a well-known—to him—bad sign. The round, strong chin of Ekaterina trembled slightly.
“In what? Matoushka Tzaritza, and in what is my crime?” he asked, stammering.
“Comment donc, Monsieur? Yes, really oversalted it,” continued Ekaterina, slowly taking another pinch from her snuff-box.
At this, Orloff, like a child, lost all self-possession; his eyes wandered timorously round the room.
“You know; our captive,” said the empress,—“Oh, I suppose you’ve heard it; she’ll soon be two.…”
The athlete Orloff knew not what to do in his confusion.
“I am lost, completely lost!” thought he; and his disgrace, his downfall arose before his eyes. “Mercy, oh God!”