As the speaker ended, the chamberlain appeared to summon them to the Czar’s presence. Entering the chamber the ministers stood in a respectful semi-circle at a little distance from Alexander, who was seated at a table. Beside him was his mother, the ex-Empress Mary, whose presence was a new feature at ministerial meetings. She scarcely deserved the disrespectful term “beldam,” applied to her by Benningsen, for she had not yet reached her forty-second year, and still retained much of the magnificent beauty of her youthful days. Alexander’s face wore a troubled look; it was evident that he and his mother had been divided upon some question, and her barely suppressed smile of triumph showed in whose favour the dispute had ended. For a few moments the Emperor did not speak. His head was turned to a large window that commanded a view of the vast crowd outside, whose voices had all joined in singing the national anthem. The Czar’s eyes kindled as he listened. His people were with him—whom, then, should he fear? “’Tis a loyal crowd,” said the Empress-mother. “Loyalty to the Czar,” broke in Pahlen, “should also include loyalty to the ministers appointed by him. I make request, Sire, that a certain picture be withdrawn from the front of the Orphan Asylum.” “For what reason?” said the Empress. “Does it not tell the truth?” “It has made us ministers odious in the eyes of the people. They have attempted our life.” “Terrible!” said the Empress. “One may kill a Czar, but when it comes to killing a minister——” She paused, as if unable to express in words the enormity of such a deed. “But,” continued she, “this is a matter over which the Czar hath no jurisdiction. The Orphan Asylum is my own private property, and if I choose to decorate its exterior with a historic picture, who shall say me nay?” “My mother speaks truly,” said Alexander. “If you would have the picture withdrawn, it is to her you must address your persuasions.” “You will choose, Sire,” said Pahlen, “between the removal of the picture or the resignation of your chancellor.” The Empress laughed contemptuously. “Chancellors are cheap enough!” The singing of the national anthem, having now come to an end, was superseded by various cries, the most frequent being, “Down with the Ministry!” “The voice of the people is the voice of God,” said the Empress. “Go forth! Show yourself! Give them the answer they desire. Tell them that Czar and justice are the same word.” Her authority over the Emperor was great, and she seemed pleased that the ministers should see it. He rose, walked to a window and, opening it, stepped out upon the balcony. No sooner was he seen than the air rang with cries of greeting. The lifting of the Czar’s hand was like the lifting of a magic wand. An instant hush fell upon the crowd. “Good-day, my children.” Like a roar of thunder came the answer— “Good-day, Little Father!” “What is your will with me?”