The Czar being at variance with England, it pleased Benningsen to patronise everything and everybody coming from that country. On learning the name of his new “brother,” Benningsen was loud in his admiration and delight at meeting with one who had shown the Russian troops how to pass the Devil’s Bridge by scaling the rocks above it, leading the way in the very fire of the enemy. “Your gallant feat of arms,” he assured Wilfrid, “is remembered with gratitude and admiration by every officer in St. Petersburg.” It was characteristic of Wilfrid that he thought, not of the effect that his deed might have upon the Czar, but upon—some one else. If his feat of arms had given pleasure to the Princess, it mattered little to him how Paul and others viewed it. Benningsen, with a sweep of his arm, directed Wilfrid’s attention to the Michaelhof. “‘In my father’s house are many mansions,’” he remarked. “And that’s the style of them,” he continued pointing to the palace. “Truly the angels have curious ideas respecting architecture.” As Wilfrid’s face showed that he was quite in the dark as to the other’s meaning, the General proceeded to explain. “Evidently you are not aware that my august brother-in-law received a visit one night from the Archangel Michael, who, showing him the plans and elevation of a palace, bade him build one like it. Fact! At least,” he added with a side glance at Wilfrid, “it’s a fact that Paul says so, and it is never prudent to doubt the word of a Czar.” “You speak freely.” “Why, one may speak freely with an Englishman. With a Grand Duke ’twere otherwise. To return to Paul. As soon as he had received the Archangel’s commission he was in a devil of a hurry to carry it out. Five thousand men were at work daily. To dry the walls more quickly red-hot plates were affixed to them. All to no purpose. The place is so damp that the dear Czar, the Empress, and the Grand Duchesses, are in a continual state of coughing. And the price of all this?—Eighteen million roubles!” Wilfrid let him rattle on without interruption, perceiving that he was one of those men who are never better pleased than when hearing the sound of their own voice. “You see that window facing us on the third story,” continued Benningsen, pointing it out. “What sort of room do you suppose lies behind it?” “A prison, if one must judge by its numerous crossbars.” “Wrong. Paul’s bedroom. Difficult to enter from the outside, eh?” “Are you contemplating the feat?” smiled Wilfrid, for Benningsen really looked as if he had some such idea in his head. “The window barred,” murmured the General, as if following out some train of thought rather than addressing Wilfrid, “and the bedroom-door difficult of access, since to reach it one must traverse a network of corridors so like a maze that to find one’s way requires the thread of Ariadne.” “Are such precautions necessary?” “The dear Czar thinks so.”