“Now tie his hands with your scarf,” I told him, and he obeyed.
In a few moments we had him bound securely, hand and foot, and dragging him—a dead weight—to a heavy settle, we fastened him to that with my belt and Maluta’s. We had not finished our task, however, before the boyar began to revive, and opening his eyes, stared at us, in a dazed fashion, but I did not heed him. On the contrary, I picked up his cumbersome robes.
“Quick,” I said to my follower, “I must become the boyar.”
The dwarf had, by this time, divined my design and helped me strip off my own coat and shoes and put on the Russian dress. Kurakin and I were nearly of a height, and the long robe completely disguised my figure, while the collar, which was high and standing, partially concealed my face, the cap completing the disguise. I wore my hair about the length of the boyar’s and, wearing his clothes, I could easily pass for him in a dim light—the light of the chapel. Maluta danced about me, clapping his hands, while the Russian stared, gradually recovering his senses, and the white of his face turning to purple with impotent rage; he began to dimly suspect my purpose, and I never saw before such passion and despair pictured on a man’s face. He writhed, but his bonds held, and he felt himself a fool, and began to curse me feebly, while I put my pistol back into my bosom and, taking his sword also, bowed graciously to him.
“Au revoir, monsieur!” I said, and kissed the tips of my fingers, and then, in Russ; “the bride waits, sir.”
He sputtered—too far spent to give voice to his wrath, and fury blazed in his untamed eyes.
I unlocked the door of the painted gallery, and then spoke to Maluta.
“Go to the czarevna and tell her that the Boyar Kurakin waits in the chapel,” I said; “after that, return and watch him here—as a cat watches a mouse—and if he cries out, gag him and wait until I whistle for you.”
Then I crossed the gallery swiftly. I could still hear the outcry of the mob; in fact, at that very moment there were rioters in the banqueting-hall, insulting the Czarina Natalia.
I laid my hand on the chapel door. It had been scarcely twenty minutes, and I was sure that the czarevna had waited. But did the priest know Kurakin—or did he not?