“Prince Vasiliev,” the Queen said, “I have sent for you to ask you to replace M. Tsargradev as Secretary of State for the Interior, and President of the Council. You will at once enter into the discharge of your duties, and proceed to the formation of a Ministry.”
Prince Vasiliev was a tall, spare, faded old man, with a pointed face ending in a white imperial. He was a great personal favourite of the Queen’s.
“It will be a little difficult, Madame,” said he.
“No doubt,” assented she. “But it must be done.”
“I hardly see, Madame, how I can form a Ministry to any purpose, with an overwhelming majority against me in the Soviete.”
“You are to dissolve the Soviete and order a general election.”
“The general election can scarcely be expected to result in a change of parties, your Majesty.”
“No; but we shall have gained time. When the new deputies are ready to take their seats, M. Tsargradev’s case will have been disposed of. I expect you will find among his papers at the Home Office evidence sufficient to convict him of all sorts of crimes. If I can deliver Monterosso from the Tsargradev superstition, my intention will have been accomplished.”
“Now let’s lunch,” she said to Florimond and me, at the close of this historic session. “I’m ravenously hungry.”
I dare say General Michaïlov did what he could, but his troops weren’t numerous enough to prevent a good deal of disturbance in the town; and I suppose he didn’t want to come to bloodshed. For three days and nights, the streets leading up to the Palace were black with a howling mob, kept from crossing the Palace courtyard by a guard of only about a hundred men. Cries of “Long live Tsargradev!” and “Death to the German woman!” and worse cries still, were constantly audible from the Palace windows.