“Text!” repeated Benningsen. “His latest craze is to turn the Bible into a book of holy divination. Each morning he opens the Scriptures, and the first verse his eye lights upon is taken as a direct message from Heaven. To-day’s text was, ‘_Thou shalt bruise his heel_.’ Not quite seeing its application to himself straight he goes with the verse to Archbishop Plato. ‘The passage, Sire, is to be taken in connection with the preceding clause, “_It shall bruise thy head_.” The head is a vital part; not so the heel. The meaning, therefore, is that your enemies, the English, will do you more hurt than you will do them.’” “Trust Plato for making the Scriptures speak his own views,” said Baranoff with a sneer. “The text,” continued Benningsen, ignoring the Count’s remark, “has made our little Czar thoughtful. All day long he has been saying at intervals, ‘_Thou shalt bruise his heel_,’ so that—but here comes Monsieur l’Ambassadeur,” he said, breaking off in the middle of a sentence. “Now, perhaps,” he whispered in Pauline’s ear, “I shall be able to have a word with you on—start not—on a matter touching our personal safety.” The Marquis de Vaucluse had entered the reception-hall wearing a perturbed look, due to the discovery that the Czarovitch was a close prisoner in his own apartments, and forbidden to hold any communication with the outside world. For a few moments the four discussed in common this latest phase of Imperial politics, and then Baranoff, desirous of conversing privately with De Vaucluse, drew him on one side, leaving Benningsen free to talk with Pauline. “How long, think you,” said Baranoff to the Marquis, “shall we be able to keep the Czar alive?” De Vaucluse, not understanding the other’s meaning, regarded him with a startled look. “I am alluding, dear citoyen, to the privately-expressed opinion of Paul’s chief physician, Wylie.” The Ambassador’s brow cleared. He had thought the other was about to announce the existence of a conspiracy for the assassination of the Czar. “Physicians’ forecasts are not always right. What has the Scotsman been saying?” “Paul has had of late several strokes of apoplexy, each one more serious than the last. In Wylie’s opinion the next is likely to prove fatal. Now, neither you nor I can afford to see Paul go, for Alexander’s accession will mean the end of the Franco-Russian Alliance.” This was a fact as well-known to the Marquis as it was to Baranoff. “Any undue excitement,” continued the Count, “any undue rage will carry him off.” “The remedy is obvious,” smiled De Vaucluse. “His immediate _entourage_ must take every precaution to prevent him from exciting himself.” “That is very good counsel of yours,” said Baranoff in a dry tone, “but, unfortunately, your charming but too generously-impulsive daughter has this day done a deed likely to raise the Czar’s wrath to a dangerous point.” “And, therefore,” said the Marquis, “he must be kept in ignorance of Pauline’s act.”