And the girl, throwing off her fur-lined cloak, jumped from the carriage into the water, ran to the foremost horse, calling it by its name as she ran; then, stroking its mane with one hand, sprang lightly upon its back, using the leading-reins for bridle.
And now they moved on once more.
With her soft voice saying to the on-pressing crowd, "Dear cousin, please make way! Heaven be with you!" she effected more than any amount of violence would have done. The people made way for her, and she succeeded in guiding the carriage into a side street, clear as yet from the flying masses.
But there was a reason which made advance impracticable. The flood was already ahead of them; and the farther they proceeded the more imminent grew their danger. The waves were already washing into the carriage; the Duchess had to take refuge on the coachman's box to keep her feet dry. There she was so far secure, but Bethsaba was soaked to the skin from the spray dashed up by the horses' feet, while the water covered her knees.
"If only we could get to Nevski Prospect," gasped the Duchess. "Hurry—hurry on! There is our castle."
At length they reached it. But what a sight met their eyes! It was as though they were in the very midst of the Neva, with its fields of ice. Not water alone was round them, but ice—great icebergs floating on the black expanse of water. Through the Moika Canal the flood was coming down upon them.
"Holy Archangel Michael!" screamed the coachman at the sight, "save us on this your day!"
"Don't pray now, but push on the horses," commanded the Duchess, peremptorily.
"From this only St. Michael or the devil can save us!"
"Hold your tongue!" cried the Duchess, giving him a smart blow on the head. "I trust neither in St. Michael nor the devil, but in my good horses, which will take me home in safety. Drive on!"