“Then will you tell me what has happened during the past twenty-four hours to cause everybody in St. Petersburg to look as black as the devil?”
“Pardon, General; I carry a message from the Czar, and may not tarry in his service. The answer to your question is to be seen at the Orphan Asylum.”
So saying, Muscovitz saluted with the same indifferent air as before and rode off quickly, much as if it were a disgrace to be seen talking with the two ministers.
The Orphan Asylum? The two looked inquiringly at each other. The edifice in question was a foundation of the ex-Empress Mary, and the ex-Empress Mary, as both well knew, had good reason for hating the existing Ministry.
“Now, what devilry has that old bedlam been up to?” said Benningsen. “Drive to the Orphan Asylum,” he cried, turning to the coachman.
“Better not,” murmured Pahlen. “A crowd may be there, and I like not the people’s looks this morning. They would do us mischief if they dared. Besides, the Czar awaits us.”
But Benningsen scoffed at the other’s fears, and swore he would go there though the place should contain ten thousand devils.
Arrived within sight of the building, they found the space fronting it filled with a vast throng, drawn mainly from the lower orders, a throng jostling, excited, garrulous. Women and children were there, as well as men, all animated apparently with the one object of pushing their way to the fore, in order to obtain a glimpse of something exposed to view behind the railings that guarded the façade of the Orphan Asylum. Everybody in the crowd was talking at once, making it impossible for the ministers to gather anything intelligible. The hubbub was loudest in front where those in full enjoyment of the view clung to the railings, refusing to give place to their fellows in the rear.
“A nice disorderly mob!” growled Benningsen, standing up in the carriage and surveying the crowd as it swayed to and fro like waves of the sea. “Where is the Governor of the city or the Chief of the Police? Asleep?”