The Emperor subsided. For the moment he could not vent his vengeance on any particular person.
Corsini proceeded. “At the bal-masqué, your Majesty is to wear a pale-blue domino.”
“Quite true,” answered the autocrat. “That is the costume I have chosen.”
“These men are acquainted with every detail of the reception, and they have a hundred spies and adherents.”
“I see,” said the Emperor. “It is well known we are giving a big reception to-night, to which even this traitor Zouroff himself is invited. Truly, the conspirators have chosen a very convenient occasion.”
After these words the Czar of all the Russias leant his head upon his hand, apparently engrossed in deep thought.
Golitzine looked at Salmoros, the Baron flashed back an answering glance. The same thought had occurred to both. Had the Emperor’s brain, never of a very dominating quality, suddenly given way under the tragic possibilities of to-night?
The two Generals, admirable machines, but who were pretty well incapable of moving on their own volition, kept imperturbable faces.
Golitzine at last ventured to touch the shoulder of his Imperial Master. Even a favourite Secretary paused before taking liberties with an autocrat, so long as he was in his right mind. But Golitzine was beginning to doubt if he was, and Salmoros entertained the same suspicion.
“There is no time to be lost, Sire. They are going to strike to-night. We must be prepared to counter their blow. What does your Majesty suggest?”