After dinner a resplendent footman brought a message to Grodwitz, who thereupon told me that he was to conduct me to his Highness, who would receive me now.
“Say, what shall I have to do?” I asked confidentially as we passed along a magnificent corridor. “I’ve been to a levee held by the King of England, but I don’t know anything of Russian Court etiquette.”
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
“There is no need for you to observe etiquette, mon ami. Are you not an American and a Republican? Therefore none will blame you if you are unceremonious,—least of all our puissant Grand Duke! Have you not heard that he himself is a kind of ‘Jacques bonhomme’?”
“That means just a peasant, doesn’t it?” I asked obtusely. “No, I hadn’t heard that.”
He laughed again.
“Did the good Mishka tell you nothing?”
“Why, no; he’s the surliest and most silent fellow I’ve ever travelled with.”
“He is discreet, that Mishka,” said Grodwitz, and drew himself up stiffly as the footman, who had preceded us, threw open a door, and ushered us into the Duke’s presence.
He was standing before a great open fireplace in which a log fire crackled cheerily, and beside him was the little fat officer I had seen him with before; while there were several others present, all ceremoniously standing, and looking more or less bored.