And my Streltsi, all the while, cried out:
“’Tis an ambassador from the French King to their czarish majesties; the okolnitchy bade me pass him. Way there, or your beards will be plucked out by the roots, and ye will have the pravezh!”
But I found a speedier remedy, and quietly drew some money from my wallet and cast a handful of it among them, and in the fierce scramble for it, I slipped through the gate and hurried away towards the Red Place, at the top of my speed, with Maluta at my heels. I who, but yesterday, had struggled so hard to get out of the Kremlin, had now paid high to be in again, and rejoiced at my good fortune. I clapped my hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.
“Maluta,” I cried, “you deserve to be a prime minister, I——”
But he put his finger on his lips, and catching hold of the skirt of my coat, hurried along under the shadow of the Cathedral of Saint Basil the Blessed. At last he stopped and pointed at a narrow door in the lower part of the Palace of Facets.
“Yonder,” he whispered, “beyond that door, is a room with no windows, and in it is the Princess Daria.”
I caught my breath sharply. “Let us go in,” I cried.
But he seized my sleeve. “Stay,” he whispered, and his thin, three-cornered face showed white in the dusk.
“In the entry there is a soldier, but he drinks good wine,” he said, “wine that thy servant bought, and also the stuff from the Gostinnoi Dvor, and at this hour he troubles us but little. But one false step—one outcry—one whisper—and——”
He put his hand to his throat with a significant gesture.