“On this night!” suddenly exclaimed Munnich.  “You see, your highness, that Count Ostermann is wholly of my opinion.  It must be done this night!”

“That would be overhaste,” cried the duchess; “we are not yet prepared!”

“Nor is the regent, Biron of Courland,” thoughtfully interposed Ostermann; “and, therefore, our overhaste would take Biron by surprise.”

“Decidedly my opinion,” said Munnich.  “All is lost if we give the regent time and leisure to make his arrangements.  If we do not annihilate him to-day, he may, perhaps, send us to Siberia to-morrow.”

The duchess turned pale; a trembling ran through her tall, noble form.

“I so much dread the shedding of blood!” said she.

“Oh, I am not at all vain,” said Ostermann.  “I find it much less unpleasant to see the blood of others flowing than my own.  It may be egotism, but I prefer keeping my blood in my veins to exposing it to the gaping curiosity of an astonished crowd!”

“You think, then, that he already suspects, and would murder us?”

“You, us, and also your son, the Emperor Ivan.”

“Also my son!” exclaimed Leopoldowna, her eyes flashing like those of an enraged lioness.  “Ah, I should know how to defend my son.  Let Biron fall this night!”

“So be it!” unanimously exclaimed the three men.

“He has driven us to this extremity,” said the princess.  “Not enough that he has banished our friends and faithful servants, surrounding us with his miserable creatures and spies—­not enough that he wounds and humiliates us in every way—­he would rend the young emperor from us, his parents, his natural protectors.  We are attacked in our holiest rights, and must, therefore, defend ourselves.”

“But what shall we do with this small Biron, when he is no longer the great regent?” asked Ostermann.

“We will make him by a head smaller,” said Munnich, laughing.

“No,” vehemently exclaimed Leopoldowna—­“no, no blood shall flow!  Not with blood shall our own and our son’s rights be secured!  Swear this gentlemen, or I will never give my consent to the undertaking.”

“I well knew that your highness would so decide,” said Munnich, with a smile, drawing a folded paper from his bosom.  “In proof of which I hand this paper to your highness.”

“Ah, what is this?” said the duchess, unfolding the paper; “it is the ground plan of a house!”

“Of the house we will have built for Biron in Siberia,” said Munnich; “I have drawn the plan myself.”

“In fact, you are a skilful architect, Count Munnich,” said Ostermann, laughing, while casting an interrogating glance at the paper which Anna was still thoughtfully examining.  “How well you have arranged it all!  How delightful these snug little chambers will be!  There will be just space enough in them to turn around in.  But these small chambers seem to be a little too low.  They are evidently not more than five feet high.  As Biron, however, has about your height, he will not be able to stand upright in them.”