At that moment a droschky appeared at the extremity of the long street which the police kept clear for the imperial cortége. The horse dashed furiously along, evidently running away, while the driver held on desperately to the reins. On the narrow seat were two moujiks holding on to each other, apparently drunk and unconscious of their danger. They kissed each other and rubbed their beards together, as their habit is in their convivial moods; but I suspected that they were not drunk, and perhaps not even moujiks. One of them appeared to be urging the already maddened horse still more. "Fly, my dushinka!" ("little darling") he cried, trying to clutch the reins from the frightened driver. "Fly like wind and lightning to meet our good father Constantine!"
His companion waved a box in his hand. "Fireworks! torpedoes!" he bawled with a yell of drunken laughter, "for the good Duke Constantine!"
The horse, suddenly swerving from his straight course, dashed against one of the iron pillars holding a cluster of lamps at the palace-gate. There was a loud cry as the crash of the droschky and the explosion of the box of fireworks occurred at the same moment, and, while every eye except mine was apparently fixed on the spot, I saw Vladimir Kourásoff lift up his hand and affix a placard to the wall and vanish in the crowd. It was done in an instant of time.
As I saw it I walked off involuntarily in another direction, and when I turned and looked back the throng that had lately been so noisy and excited was staring in stupid amazement at the bit of paper securely fastened to the wall.
My first impulse was to seek Count Loris: I felt that Vladimir's fate was sealed—that in that vast multitude some one besides myself must have seen him. I walked mechanically to the Nikolas bridge, and, looking up, saw my friend approaching, and two men, not in uniform, walking slowly and nonchalantly toward him, immediately in front of me. We all four met in the middle of the bridge.
One of the strangers laid his hand lightly on the count's arm. "In the name of the emperor," said he, "your sword."
Count Loris, with a cool smile, unbuckled his sword and handed it to him. "I am now, and always, the faithful subject of the emperor's most sacred Majesty," said he.
The man, who had hitherto remained silent, examining him carefully, said: "He does not wear the uniform of Count Vladimir Kourásoff's corps."
"That is easily accounted for," replied his companion: "he has a brother who is in the Guards, and a change of uniform is a shallow trick often resorted to."
"Come, my friends," said Count Loris, smiling pleasantly, "do not keep a gentleman and a faithful officer standing here in this piercing wind."