“Yonder!” I said; “go to the river, fool, and drink it dry,” and I dropped out of the window and left him cursing, too far gone to follow me, though I think he tried.
I felt my way along by the wall of the house; I was in the court-yard, a cul-de-sac between the huts, and it was like pitch, but at last I came to a gate and, fumbling at the latch, got it open and went out into a street—a street that I did not know—in the Zemlianui-gorod, and beset on all sides with dangers, seen and unseen. I went swiftly forward, guided only by the dimly seen towers of the Kremlin, until the light above grew fuller and I saw the crosses gleam on the cathedrals, and so kept steadily on.
The wild night—full of its horrors—was spent; another day was breaking, and here and there I stumbled on a man lying in the street, either dead or in a drunken stupor, and once or twice I turned aside to avoid a group of tipsy ruffians, but, in places, there was quiet, the quiet of fear or worse, and I went on. The thought that I might be too late drove me well-nigh to madness and winged my feet, yet the way seemed endless.
But at last I came in sight of Kurakin’s house, and beyond it saw Le Bastien’s, the windows still shuttered. There were no signs of outrage, the street was quiet, the house closed and silent. I hurried to the door and tried it and found it barred within. My heart beat high with hope, and I made for the rear door and, crossing the court, tried my key in the lock, but here, too, there were bars within.
Day dawned, a ghastly whiteness shone on the scene, even the sky was white rather than blue. I beat upon the door. Silence. Then I heard a step within, and beat upon the door and shouted. At my voice the bars were lifted, the door opened softly, and Maluta’s white face and great ears appeared.
“Where is the Princess Daria?” I cried, pushing past him.
He fell to trembling, his teeth chattered, he clutched at my knees.
“Be not angry, O my master,” he cried shrilly; “as the saints live, I know not—she is not here!”
XXIII: A SPRIG OF RUE
I HAD entered the hall, and the dwarf closed the door and secured it with shaking hands. On the floor a lanthorn burned low, casting a dim light, and the house—with its tight-closed shutters—was as dark as pitch. There was a settle in the hall and, overcome with fasting and exertion, I walked over to it and sat down in pure weariness and dejection. Maluta meanwhile shied off from me and cowered behind the lanthorn; for some reason the creature seemed to expect a beating whenever I was displeased or disappointed. But I regarded him as little at the time as a toad; I looked at him with dull eyes. The event had only justified my fears.