“If the object behind those railings be to our hurt, Baranoff and his brother will not be over-eager to disperse the throng.”
Pahlen’s suspicion was well founded. The Governor of the city and the Chief of the Police, having a fore-knowledge of what was to take place, had arranged that the people were not to be interfered with.
At this point a man on the outskirts of the crowd suddenly caught sight of the two ministers.
“See, see!—Pahlen and Benningsen,” he cried excitedly, extending his forefinger towards them.
Those beside the speaker turned, and, observing at whom he pointed, took up the cry—
“Pahlen and Benningsen!”
There was a wild rush of feet over the pavement, and before the terrified driver could set his steeds in motion the carriage was surrounded by a crowd of fierce-eyed men. Pahlen, his cheeks blanched, shrank back. Benningsen, familiar with the rush of bayonets on the battle-field, lost nothing of his presence of mind.
Whipping out a brace of pistols, he pointed them, the one to the right, the other to the left.
“I’ll make a dead man of the first that comes within a yard of the car.”
Those advancing with a fell purpose instantly stopped short, and strove to stem the pressure in their rear. They knew that, happen to him what might, Benningsen would keep his word. Had he not cut down a soldier in the very teeth of a hostile regiment?