“I think you are right.  We’ll let Fost stay and watch the inner doors, and you and I will be alone in this side of the house.  Then the men on the streets can’t catch us, and we will be protected from the inside too....”

Then he had some idea.  A bad one, I am sure!

“All right, that’s a good way, anyhow.  Now I am going to take a bath,—­I need it.  If somebody asks for me, say so.”

The Lett and I remained.  I stood for half an hour near my window,—­then it opened.  I fixed the note on the bayonette and it went to its destination.

After, a voice said: 

“Mister * * *, we are afraid!  What can we do?  Do you think that you can protect us?  Please tell the truth, don’t try to console us.”

“I am sure, your Highness,” I said, “please don’t worry.”

The voice continued:  “They took out the keys from the doors.  We cannot even lock ourselves in, or hide.  Can’t you tell this to the Budishchev’s—­perhaps they can do something?”

“You shouldn’t try to hide, and there is no use to tell it to anybody, believe me.  Be in the room on the second floor and wait there.  I will be on the watch as I said.”

—­“You know better perhaps,—­we believe you.”

With a “Thank you so much” and “We are so frightened!” repeated with despair and horror, the window closed.

I had to invent something, and invent quickly, for I had no plan as yet.

The Browning was with me but I reserved it for the last chance, and I decided to keep it loaded to finish some of the Reds—­and myself—­if it should come to an open fight.  With such thoughts I was desperately rambling within the fence.

My vague plan was to come right after Pashinsky and knock him on the head with something heavy,—­then I rejected this project:  the scoundrel could yell and I would be discovered.  I came to the quarters and looked around.  It was the office of Tanaevsky before occupied by us.  In the classic disorder, with an inch of cigarette butts and dust on the floor, among the remnants of the Governor’s House stored here, I saw a gold metallic rope cord which in better times had been used to support the heavy drapery of the reception room.  The idea of a silent strangulation came into my head with the picture of Jacolliot’s Thugs.  I cut the tassel away and put it under somebody’s pillow, and hid the rope in my bosom.

At seven Pashinsky finally came back, surprisingly clean, shaven, and smelling of some cheap and penetrating perfume.  He was slightly drunk.  When clean,—­he looked to me a thousand times worse.

Neither Pashinsky, nor I, could wait until the night came.  He was continually repeating what I should do, and continually asking me whether I thought everything was safe.  Finally night arrived.  At nine the lights in the Mansion were put out—­all but in one window.  I knew how hearts were beating there:  mine was echoing.

—­“I am going, Syva,” Pashinsky whispered.  “I can’t wait any longer—­all is burning inside of me.”