“’Tis such as the guards at the palace wear,” said he, an expression of rare intelligence in his sharp eyes.
“Where did you find it?” I asked quickly.
“In the lobby, O my master,” he replied.
I rose and looked about me for some weapons, but as I did it I turned dizzy, and remembered that, in twenty-four hours, I had eaten nothing but a piece of bread. The dwarf had been watching me and, with his usual singular penetration, he divined my need and ran toward the kitchen. I stood leaning on the window, glad of the air, and pondering on many things, while I put that bit of rue into my bosom, a keepsake—and a sad one. I was still standing there, in strange perplexity, when Maluta came back with some rice bread and a little cold meat and wine, all that he could find in the desolate larder, which he had doubtless visited heavily on his own account. He set the food on the table and I ate hurriedly and in silence, for I was sad enough. If the palace guards had been there, if Sophia had entrapped the princess, what fate might not befall her? Yet, the mystery of her disappearance was wholly unsolved. I could not believe that she would go willingly with the czarevna’s emissaries, and there could scarcely have been a forced entrance where no trace of violence appeared.
At last I spoke my thought aloud.
“I must go to Sophia Alexeievna,” I said; “she shall tell me where the princess is.”
I had scarcely spoken before Maluta fell on his knees beside me and clasped my ankles, with every sign of terror.
“Never!” he cried; “oh, never go to her, my master; she would hang you. She never forgets or forgives—not she!”
“But the Princess Daria?” I said sharply.
“There are other ways,” he pleaded; “let your servant find her, let——”