“It’s real!” said Burrows, his red, cheery face perplexed and strained.  “Who’d have thought it?”

“Of course it’s real!” cried Bohun impatiently (Burrows’ optimism had been often difficult to bear with indulgence).

“Now you see!  What about your beautiful Russian mystic now?”

“Oh dear!” cried the little Russian typist.  “And my mother!...  What ever shall I do?  She’ll hear reports and think that I’m being murdered.  I shall never get across.”

“You’d better stay with me to-night, Miss Peredonov,” said Peroxide firmly.  “My flat’s quite close here in Gagarinsky.  We shall be delighted to have you.”

“You can telephone to your mother, Miss Peredonov,” said Burrows.  “No difficulty at all.”

It was then that Bohun took me aside.

“Look here!” he said.  “I’m worried.  Vera and Nina were going to the
Astoria to have tea with Semyonov this afternoon.  I should think the
Astoria might be rather a hot spot if this spreads.  And I wouldn’t trust
Semyonov.  Will you come down with me there now?”

“Yes,” I said, “of course I’ll come.”

We said a word to Burrows, put on our Shubas and goloshes, and started down the stairs.  At every door there were anxious faces.  Out of one flat came a very fat Jew.

“Gentlemen, what is this all about?”

“Riots,” said Bohun.

“Is there shooting?”

“Yes,” said Bohun.

“Bozhe moi!  Bozhe moi! And I live over on Vassily Ostrov!  What do you advise, Gaspoda?  Will the bridges be up?”

“Very likely,” I answered.  “I should stay here.”

“And they are shooting?” he asked again.

“They are,” I answered.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen—­stay for a moment.  Perhaps together we could think....  I am all alone here except for a lady... most unfortunate....”

But we could not stay.

The world into which we stepped was wonderful.  The background of snow under the star-blazing sky made it even more fantastic than it naturally was.  We slipped into the crowd and, becoming part of it, were at once, as one so often is, sympathetic with it.  It seemed such a childish, helpless, and good-natured throng.  No one seemed to know anything of arms or directions.  There were, as I have already said, many women and little children, and some of the civilians who had rifles looked quite helpless.  I saw one boy holding his gun upside down.  No one paid any attention to us.  There was as yet no class note in the demonstration, and the only hostile cries I heard were against Protopopoff and the police.  We moved back into the street behind the Fontanka, and here I saw a wonderful sight.  Some one had lighted a large bonfire in the middle of the street and the flames tossed higher and higher into the air, bringing down the stars in flights of gold, flinging up the snow until it seemed to radiate in lines and circles of white light high over the very roofs of the houses.  In front of the fire a soldier, mounted on a horse, addressed a small crowd of women and boys.  On the end of his rifle was a ragged red cloth.