“Farewell,” he said; “you go against my counsel and my will, but yet—I suppose, if I were young, I would do likewise! But, I pray you, be cautious, if you can, and if I can do aught——”
“But you cannot, monsieur,” I interrupted heartily, “nor do I wish you in this tangle,” and I bade him a hasty farewell and hurried away, lest he should delay me by more arguments.
It took us a few moments more to get past our own Streltsi, and then Maluta and I struck off into the lanes that led through some byways to the Kremlin, avoiding the short route which would have taken us into the crowded quarter.
The city still wore its desolate air and, by contrast with the sky, yet glowing with sunset, it seemed dark and haunted with the grimmest of shadows. Close-shuttered windows and barred doors surrounded us; not a woman looked out, not a child ran in the court-yards, and if we chanced on a peaceful citizen, he skurried away at the sight of an armed man. As we neared the Gate of Saint Nikolas, I saw that it was occupied by a guard of Streltsi, and the dwarf signed to me to advance slowly, while he began to whistle softly, holding his hands over his mouth. Then I saw one of the guards at the gate lounge toward us, and began to suspect Maluta’s designs. When the soldier had placed a few yards between himself and his comrades, he quickened his steps and the dwarf whispered to me to keep close to the wall of the house, in front of which we had halted, while he sidled forward, crab-fashion, to meet the Streltsi; and I saw that he must have saved some money, for it changed hands before my eyes. Then he called to me in a low voice:
“We will go forward now, excellency,” he said. “Way here, for the ambassador to their czarish majesties!” he added, in his shrillest tone, clapping his hands.
The soldier bowed low and saluted, and then walked before me, with Maluta, crying:
“Way for the ambassador to the czar and czarevitch!”
The Streltsi at the gate stared curiously; they had been well enough supplied with liquor to be happy, but they could not let me pass until one of their number, who knew Von Gaden, was called.
“Is this the Jew doctor?” they demanded, “for, by Saint Nikolas of Mojaïsk, he shall not escape us!”
But the fellow, happily, shook his head. “This is not the Jew!” he declared.