At last, after so much ill luck, fortune favored me. At no great distance from Von Gaden’s house, in a lonely street, I saw a small figure dodging along ahead of me. Dark as it was, I was certain of my discovery. There were many court dwarfs, but there was something about Homyak’s figure and gait that was unmistakable. He did not know who was behind him, and was off his guard. In a moment I had overtaken him, and had him by the collar; he shrieked and cowered like a frightened animal, but I put my pistol to his head for the second time.
“Be quiet, you rogue!” I said, in a low tone. “If you make any outcry, it will cost you your life.”
He recognized my voice at once, and I fancied that he drew a long breath of relief.
“Why do you use me so ill, M. le Vicomte?” he whined. “I was on my way to the Kremlin on business for her majesty; it is not safe to interfere with me; the czarina—”
I had turned him about, and was half pushing, half dragging him along.
“You will come back with me, nevertheless,” I replied calmly, making my way towards Von Gaden’s. “You can give us some information that we need, and give it you shall.”
He whimpered in the darkness, and writhed in my hands like the miserable ape that he was.
“I know nothing, M. de Brousson,” he cried feverishly; “you are wasting time on a poor wretch who cannot fight you.”
I did not reply, but tightened my grip on his collar, remembering Zénaïde, and longing to whip the hound as he deserved. But he was determined not to give up without a protest.
“Where are you taking me?” he moaned. “I shall be punished at the palace for my delay. What can your excellency want with so humble a creature?”