Katina instantly flew off to summon the driver of the troika in which Paul and Trevisa had made their journey from Slavowitz. The three men proceeded to the entrance of the inn where they found the trooper Nikita, still holding the two horses, and seeming as if he had not moved an inch from his previous position. Night had fallen, and the stars were twinkling in a dark sky. The bright light from the inn-door streamed pleasantly across the road to the trees on the opposite side.
"Pardon my haste, gentlemen," observed Zabern, "but I should do wrong to tarry longer, when there may be rioting in the capital. The princess's conversion to Romanism and the arrest of the Duke of Bora are matters sufficient to set the Muscovite mind ablaze. I'll ride on ahead; do you follow with all speed."
Katina reappeared at this moment, and the marshal gallantly kissed her hand at parting. The glad light that came into her eyes told Paul a secret.
"As I live," he murmured to himself, "our pretty Katina loves Zabern."
The marshal swung himself into the saddle, and the next moment with his steel scabbard swinging beneath his cloak, he was galloping towards Slavowitz, accompanied by his faithful orderly Nikita.
A minute afterwards the three-horsed car appeared at the inn-door in charge of its istvostchik or driver.
"The troika is ready, my little fathers," he cried.
The two friends took their places in the vehicle, and scarcely had they done so, when there passed into the glow of light, and out again immediately, a man whose tall cylindrical hat and black cassock proclaimed him to be a papa or priest of the Oriental Church.
On perceiving this ecclesiastic the istvostchik made the sign of the cross in Greek fashion, at the same time quitting the troika and saying as he did so: "Pardon me, little fathers, but I dare not drive you to-night."
"What does he mean?" Paul in wonderment asked of Katina.