And the tall, handsome equerry in the white uniform of the Imperial Guard laughed lightly, clicked his heels together, and handed me a letter which I saw bore the Imperial cipher upon its black seal.
“From His Imperial Majesty the Emperor,” he added in Russian.
I held my breath. Had the blow fallen?
With eager, trembling fingers I tore open the envelope and found therein a note in French, merely the words:
“His Imperial Majesty the Emperor commands Mr Colin Trewinnard to private audience to-day at 3:30 p.m.
“St. Petersburg, June 28th.”
“Very well,” I managed to reply. “Tell Colonel Polivanoff that—that I shall be there. Have a cigarette?” and I handed him the silver box of Bogdanoffs which were the common property of the staff of the Embassy.
Having flung himself into a big easy chair, he stretched out his long legs and lit up.
“Well,” I said, leaning against the edge of the writing-table, “I suppose the Emperor returned from Odessa early this morning—eh?”
“Yes,” replied the elegant officer, in English. “Thank Heaven, the journey is at last over. Ah! what a tour of the Empire! At Orel we held the great review, then on to Saratov, where there were more manoeuvres and a review. Afterwards we went down the Volga to Astrakhan to unveil the new statue to Peter the Great; then Kertch, more manoeuvres, and into the Crimea for a week’s rest. Afterwards across to Odessa, and then, by a three nights’ journey, back here to Petersburg. Faugh! How we all hate that armoured train!”