Nodding and smiling to himself, Ostermann opened the door of the anteroom.  A rapid, searching glance satisfied him that he was alone there, but his brow darkened when he observed Count Munnich’s mantle lying upon a chair.

“Ah, he has preceded me,” peevishly murmured Ostermann.  “Well, well, we can afford once more to yield the precedence to him.  To-day he—­to-morrow I!  My turn will come to-morrow!”

Quite forgetting his illness and his pretended pains, he rapidly crossed the spacious room, and, throwing his ragged fur cloak upon Munnich’s mantle, said: 

“A poor old cloak like this is yet in condition to render that resplendent uniform invisible.  Not a spangle of that magnificent gold embroidery can be seen, it is all overshadowed by the ragged old cloak which Munnich so much despises!  Oh, the good field-marshal will rejoice to find his mantle in such good company, and I hope my cloak may leave some visible memento upon its embroidered companion.  Well, the field-marshal is a brave man, and I have given him an opportunity to make a campaign against his own mantle!  The fool, why does he dislike these good little animals, and would yet be a Russian!”

As, however, he opened the door of the next room, his form again took its former shrunken, frail appearance, and his features again bore the expression of suffering and exhaustion.

“Ah, it is you,” said Prince Ulrich, advancing to meet the count, while Munnich stood near a writing-table, in earnest conversation with Anna Leopoldowna, to whom he seemed to be explaining something upon a sheet of paper.

“We have waited long for you, my dear count,” continued the prince, offering his hand to the new-comer, with a smile.

“The old and the sick always have the misfortune to arrive too late,” said Count Ostermann, “pain and suffering are such hinderances, your grace.  And, moreover, I have only come in obedience to the wishes of your highness, well knowing that I am superfluous here.  What has the feeble old man to do in the councils of the strong?”

“To represent wisdom in council,” said the prince, “and for that, you are precisely the man, count.”

“Ah, Count Ostermann,” at this moment interposed Munnich, “it is well you have come.  You will be best able to tell their excellencies whether I am right or not.”

“Field-Marshall Munnich is always right,” said Ostermann, with a pleasant smile.  “I unconditionally say ‘yes’ to whatever you may have proposed, provided that it is not a proposition of which my judgment cannot approve.”

“That is a very conditional yes!” exclaimed the duchess, laughing.

“A ‘yes,’ all perforated with little back doors through which a ‘no’ may conveniently enter,” laughed the prince.

“The back doors are in all cases of the greatest importance,” said Count Ostermann, earnestly.  “Through back doors one often attains to the rooms of state, and had your palace here accidentally had no back door for the admission of us, your devoted servants, who knows, your highness Anna, whether you would on this very night become regent!”