That was a piece of intelligence worth having.
Jakuskin told his jemsik to drive to the Bear's Paw.
"Never fear, children," returned the man; "I'll drive you safely through side streets, that you may not be robbed."
"None of your side streets," said Jakuskin, "but just you drive along the Prospect and over the Fontanka Ringstrasse, where the patrols are. Don't be afraid about us, my man; we have our pistols."
"Ah, there's no use in that, children. The robbers might let you pass scot-free when they saw your pistols; but the guards have no fear of firearms, and they would plunder you."
And the jemsik was by no means joking. Under the police presidency not only the soldiers managed to slip out of barracks to act the light-fingered gentry, but the patrols shared in the spoil, and commissioners of police were the most reliable of accomplices. Great folk only ventured out at night with mounted escorts; their palace-doors were strengthened with iron bars.
As they drove along the two men began scolding Diabolka for letting Chevalier Galban escape her, telling her how they had had to get rid of him at the cost of some thousands of rubles.
Just as the sledge turned off from the broad Prospect into Fontanka Ringstrasse, five armed men suddenly sprang out upon it. Two seized the horses' bridles, one levelled his weapon at the coachman's head, the two others fell upon the occupants of the sledge. All were armed with swords and pistols, their faces concealed by masks; long sheep-skins covered their persons from head to foot; their tall, pointed fur caps alone betraying them to be not only soldiers but grenadiers. One of them, speaking in French (consequently an officer), ejaculated:
"La bourse ou la vie, messieurs!"
On which Diabolka, suddenly springing up, jerked the pistol directed at Pushkin's head out of the assailant's hand, and, throwing both arms round his neck, began, coaxingly: