“Indeed,” remarked his Imperial Master, raising his eyebrows, quite unmoved. “Have you the list of names?”
In answer, the General produced a yellow official paper, which he placed upon His Majesty’s table. Then, with but a casual glance, the Emperor took up his quill and scribbled some words across the sheet and handed it back.
Markoff glanced at the words written, then, much puzzled, looked at His Majesty.
“Yes,” the latter said. “I order their immediate release. And, let me tell you, Serge Markoff, that this afternoon I have given audience to a very intimate friend of yours; your agent-provocateur, Danilo Danilovitch!”
The General’s countenance went white as paper. Such a reception was entirely unexpected.
“Ah!” exclaimed His Majesty, with a bitter smile, “I see what surprise and apprehension my talk with Danilovitch causes you. Well, I will not give utterance to the loathing I feel towards you—the man in whose hands I have placed such supreme power, and whom I have so implicitly trusted. Suffice it to say that he has revealed to me the ingenious manner in which plots have been formed in order to terrorise me, and your inhuman method of sending hundreds of innocent ones into exile, merely in order to obtain my favour.”
“I have never done such a thing!” cried the man in uniform, standing at attention as his master spoke. “The fellow lies.”
“Enough,” said the Emperor, in a loud, commanding voice. “Hear me! You are an assassin. You killed my brother the Grand Duke Peter with your own dastardly hand in order to hide your disgraceful tactics. You sent your own wife to her grave, and you paid your catspaw to kill the Grand Duke Nicholas. To-day there is a plot afoot to close the lips of my niece and my good friend Trewinnard! These are only a few of your disgraceful crimes. No; do not attempt to deny them, brute and liar that you are. Rather reflect upon the terrible fate of the thousands of poor wretches who have been sent to the Arctic settlements by your relentless, inhuman hand. The souls of all those who have been worn out by the journey and died like dogs upon the Great Post Road, or in other ways have fallen innocent victims of your plots, call loudly for vengeance. And I tell you, Serge Markoff,” he said, his dark, heavy brows narrowing in fierce anger, “I tell you that I shall find means by which adequate punishment will be awarded to you. Here is your dismissal!” he added, taking the document from his table. “It will be gazetted to-morrow. Go back to Petersburg at once and there remain. Do not attempt to leave Russia, or even to leave Petersburg, or you will at once be placed under arrest and sent to the fortress. Go home, place your affairs in order, and await until I send for you again.”
The Emperor had not yet decided what form his punishment should take.
“But—but surely Your Imperial Majesty will allow me to—” he gasped with difficulty.