The steamer started to move.

The priest stood still blessing her passengers,—­the Emperor, the Empress, the bolsheviki,—­the crew,—­all, all of them.  And, wet under the rain, this figure vested in black, with a shiny cross lifted high in the air, will for a long time remain in my memory.

The Mansion was black; not a light in the windows.  The four girls, left alone in this nest of rattlesnakes,—­were probably sitting in some far distant corner,—­crying, trembling, praying,—­and waiting for the worst, which they feared was coming.

51

To kill a man?  Nothing more agreeable if it is the right one,—­I should say!  And in such country where the trial is impossible.  I did not know I ever could,—­but...

Pashinsky started soon after the Emperor was taken.  He and Fost asked me for a conference behind the quarters, when we were waiting to change the watchmen.  Both had a confidential expression on their faces.

“You see here, Syva,—­what is planned.  You and Fost stay under the windows, and go around, just as you please.  I’ll go upstairs, and listen.  If there is no one around I’ll call you up.  I know that they are all alone.”

I consented, and when they left I wrote a note:  “Si, se soir, quelcun tache de forcer l’entree de votre chambre, je vous implore de rester calme et sure que je suis avec Vous et Vos soeurs a vous proteger.  Ne craignez rien, ne criez pas!” I wrote it in French in order to assure them of the faith in me—­and prove my identity—­and signed my real name.

It looked funny to me; I think now I am Syvorotka,—­honestly Syvorotka, formerly of the 7th of Hussars!

I went out and looked around.  The Pole and the Lett were talking and gazing from time to time at the upper windows.  Then the Pole approached:  “How much would you take from me not to go up at all, and let me do it alone?” and then, becoming sweet and fawning—.

“You see, Syva,” he said, “Fost consented.  Why shouldn’t you?  I’ll give you just as much.”

“Did you consent, Fost?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the Lett, digging in his short nose, “I did.  I have grown-up daughters at home.  I cannot.  Besides he gives me money, so why shouldn’t I?  I will stay in the corridor and won’t let anybody come in, on this side of the House.  I know nothing of your business.  Go on, have your pleasure.”

“No, Pashinsky,” I said, “that will not do.  I must be with you.  I have to protect you besides, you idiot; Fost can only see what is in the house, but supposing someone comes from down here?  You think they will forget such an outrage to the Soviets?  I will be with you somewhere behind, and when you call me I will come out.  Hope you won’t forget me.”

Pashinsky thought over my proposition for a second,—­thinking was a strenuous effort for him.  His obscene face wore a suffering and preoccupied expression; then he said: