The marchings, wheelings, and evolutions of these troops were all directed towards the formation of three main bodies, the first extending along the entire front of the Palace; at each end a shorter division was thrown forward at right angles to the main body, so that the arrangement formed three sides of a rectangle. The fourth side of the rectangle was formed by the front ranks of the people, who were kept from pressing into the interior space by mounted Cossacks, who, whenever the crowd was pushed forward by the pressure from behind, did not hesitate to ply their whips with merciless vigour. Upon the open ground thus kept clear by the lash of the Cossacks were numerous mounted officers, who rode leisurely to and fro, now conversing with one another, now issuing some order. Conspicuous among these was General Benningsen on his famous black steed Pluto; and there, too, was Prince Ouvaroff in command of the Preobrejanski Guards. These two, being the only officers known to Wilfrid, came in for a good deal of his attention, and watching them for some time by the aid of a lorgnette, he observed that though Benningsen seemed to have a word for nearly every one among his equals and subalterns, he paid no attention whatever to Ouvaroff, who, on his part, seemed to ignore the General. It was evident that there was some estrangement between the two men, who, till the previous day, had been on good terms; and Wilfrid could not help wondering to what it was due. Of the three divisions, that on the right hand, which stood, as previously said, at right angles with the main body, consisted of infantry, whose snub noses and upturned moustaches proclaimed them to be the Paulovski Regiment. “I don’t see my friend Voronetz among them,” muttered Wilfrid. “I trust he has not been cashiered.” Surveying these troops through his lorgnette, he observed that the face of each, without exception, was marked by a sullen expression, a fact to which Benningsen was keenly alive, for he eyed them from time to time as if apprehending some disturbance on their part. “The Paulovski Guards seem dissatisfied this morning?” remarked Wilfrid to Pauline. “Naturally, seeing that they are about to be disbanded.” “Paul’s favourite regiment to be disbanded! Why?” “Because they are too faithful to his interests.” Wilfrid elevated his eyebrows. “Fidelity is an extraordinary reason for disbanding a regiment.” “Nevertheless it is the true reason,” replied Pauline. Though somewhat annoyed at this mystification on her part Wilfrid curbed his curiosity. From the crowd his gaze wandered to the rear of the Winter Palace where flowed the Neva, a broad winding stream of vivid blue. On its surface floated miniature icebergs, varying in tint from white to rose colour. Carried along by the current, and assuming every conceivable shape, they crashed, and dived, and mounted one upon another as if they were trying each to be first in the race to the sea.