“Now, what devilry has that old bedlam been up to?” said Benningsen. “Drive to the Orphan Asylum,” he cried, turning to the coachman. “Better not,” murmured Pahlen. “A crowd may be there, and I like not the people’s looks this morning. They would do us mischief if they dared. Besides, the Czar awaits us.” But Benningsen scoffed at the other’s fears, and swore he would go there though the place should contain ten thousand devils. Arrived within sight of the building, they found the space fronting it filled with a vast throng, drawn mainly from the lower orders, a throng jostling, excited, garrulous. Women and children were there, as well as men, all animated apparently with the one object of pushing their way to the fore, in order to obtain a glimpse of something exposed to view behind the railings that guarded the façade of the Orphan Asylum. Everybody in the crowd was talking at once, making it impossible for the ministers to gather anything intelligible. The hubbub was loudest in front where those in full enjoyment of the view clung to the railings, refusing to give place to their fellows in the rear. “A nice disorderly mob!” growled Benningsen, standing up in the carriage and surveying the crowd as it swayed to and fro like waves of the sea. “Where is the Governor of the city or the Chief of the Police? Asleep?” “If the object behind those railings be to our hurt, Baranoff and his brother will not be over-eager to disperse the throng.” Pahlen’s suspicion was well founded. The Governor of the city and the Chief of the Police, having a fore-knowledge of what was to take place, had arranged that the people were not to be interfered with. At this point a man on the outskirts of the crowd suddenly caught sight of the two ministers. “See, see!—Pahlen and Benningsen,” he cried excitedly, extending his forefinger towards them. Those beside the speaker turned, and, observing at whom he pointed, took up the cry— “Pahlen and Benningsen!” There was a wild rush of feet over the pavement, and before the terrified driver could set his steeds in motion the carriage was surrounded by a crowd of fierce-eyed men. Pahlen, his cheeks blanched, shrank back. Benningsen, familiar with the rush of bayonets on the battle-field, lost nothing of his presence of mind. Whipping out a brace of pistols, he pointed them, the one to the right, the other to the left. “I’ll make a dead man of the first that comes within a yard of the car.” Those advancing with a fell purpose instantly stopped short, and strove to stem the pressure in their rear. They knew that, happen to him what might, Benningsen would keep his word. Had he not cut down a soldier in the very teeth of a hostile regiment? Benningsen took advantage of the momentary lull to single out with his eye a young man whose dress showed him to be a student of the university, a youth distinguished likewise from the rest of the crowd by his bold, not to say defiant, bearing. “Hearken, sirrah, your name?”