Almost before the words had left the Czar’s lips a man, evidently desirous of shaping the people’s answer, cried— “Justice on the regicides!” The cry was immediately taken up; it rolled from mouth to mouth through the length and breadth of the crowd, and was repeated again and again— “Justice on the regicides!” Then, as if surprised by their own boldness, the crowd became quiet again, waiting for the Czar’s answer. Would he grant the request thus irregularly made? Alexander hesitated for a moment, as if reflecting, and then replied:— “Depart quietly to your homes. The Czar will do justice.” With simple and touching faith the crowd accepted this assurance of the Imperial tribune. “The Little Father will punish the murderers! Hourra! Hourra! Now let us go. He will not let his word fall to the ground.” Alexander, believing that his own withdrawal would accelerate the departure of the crowd, turned and entered the council-chamber. He seemed to have derived fresh courage from this brief interview with his people. His air of restraint had vanished; he spoke with authority and dignity. “_Messieurs les Ministres_, it must ever be the aim of a ruler to hold by the good-will of his subjects. You see for yourselves that I shall forfeit that good-will by retaining you in office. It behoves me, therefore, for the sake of public peace, to dispense with your services. Perhaps,” he continued, as if desirous of softening the humiliation of this dismissal, “perhaps, at some future day—it may be—that——” Here he paused, not willing to make a rash promise. “In thus dismissing us,” said Pahlen, “you break your written pledge.” “Not so. My pledge to retain you in office was made dependent upon my father’s deposition. But you took from him not his crown only, but his life. As you have broken faith with me, I count it no wrong to break faith with you. Gentlemen, you will retire from the city to your country seats.” “No greater punishment than _that_?” said the Empress. “And there await my further pleasure,” Alexander added. The discomfited ministers withdrew. “The slave of his mother,” sneered Benningsen. “Our power is over. Dismissal to-day; to-morrow Siberia, if that old hag has her way.” The ministers gone, Alexander turned a gratified face upon the Empress. “Mother, you have done well,” he said, stooping to kiss her. “Thanks to a picture I enjoy a sense of freedom unknown before. Who is the artist that has done us such good service?” “The Englishman, Lord Courtenay.” The Czar’s face fell. His new-found pleasure vanished as he heard that name.[1] [1] It may interest those readers, unversed in Russian history, to know that the murder of Paul took place in a manner differing little from that described in Chap. XV., and that the fact, concealed at first from the public, was made known by means of a picture painted by the command of the Empress Mary. The downfall of the Pahlen Ministry immediately followed. CHAPTER XVII A VOW TO SLAY!