He hummed one of the gayest of the many gay airs from “Il Barbiere” as he walked along. It was one of his favourite operas, one in which La Belle Quéro was inimitable.
He was in a very happy frame of mind to-night as he walked through the silent streets. He even thought tenderly of La Belle Quéro, and went to the length of forgiving her for what he had once considered her groundless jealousy of the Princess.
In the midst of these happy thoughts, four black shadows loomed up against him, four men surrounded him.
What a fool he had been not to take the Princess’s advice and drive home! St. Petersburg, like every other populous city, was full of thieves.
Blindly he struck out with his disengaged hand. Shrilly he called out for help.
One of the burly men who had surrounded him threw a handkerchief over his face. In a few seconds his struggles had ceased.
His almost inanimate form was conveyed to the waiting carriage, standing in a side street not far from the Zouroff Palace. It was bundled inside, two of the men mounted the box, the others sat inside, and the horses set off at a fast trot in the direction of the Moscow road.
The valet, Peter, strolled back home. His master was lounging about in the vestibule to await the news. Peter whispered them in his ear.
Zouroff smiled a slow smile of gratified malice.