“Back!” she cried, in a voice that could be heard to the limits of the crowd. “Back! In the name of the Czar! Do you all want to go to Siberia?” There was a sudden recoil--the people tumbling affrightedly over one another, horrified at what they had done. The nearest fell on their knees before her in the trampled snow, or groveled like animals upon their faces, some trying to get at her hands, others clutching at the hem of her skirt, to kiss it. “Our Princess! Our own Princess!” they cried. “Take the worthless one away! Give us our own Princess!” Delirium was rampant, emotions of every imaginable kind alive and writhing, but Tatiana was the very person to deal with such a crisis. In a trice she had freed herself from all those imploring hands, cuffing a few heads with a quick “Get out of the way, Fèdor-Ivànovitch! Here, you Andrèi-Petrovitch, quit howling! Anna-Stéfanôvnà, you’ll get something for yourself if you don’t look out! Shame on you silly sheep! How did you dare? Where are you, _staròstá_? What do you mean by letting such an outrage be done?” etc., etc., etc., until she reached the half-overturned sleigh and Laurence, who at the first sign of help had fainted. It took Tatiana little time or trouble to have her removed to her own sleigh, and to drive her, together with Célèste--very pale but quite calm--back to the Castle, followed by uproarious demands for forgiveness from the repentant and frightened multitude. An hour after her descent upon this scene of disorder there was no longer any sign of confusion, either in the village or at the Castle, where she had found the servants huddled in every corner, trembling with fright, and Garrassime, almost beside himself with wrath and indignation, mounting guard over Master Piotr, who, it appeared, was determined to take the law into his own hands and go and thrash everybody without further delay. From Garrassime the Duchess learned that before any one was astir, Fidèlka, Célèste’s admirer, had brought round to a side entrance a sleigh and pair, in which the Princess and her maid had taken their places. It was just at sun-up, and a few moments later Garrassime had been awakened at his post across the door of his unruly young charge’s room by a breathless groom running in to report the flight of the Princess. He (Garrassime) explained that, having opened a window, he had seen the people gathering in masses upon the street below the rock, and had even heard shrieks upon shrieks as soon as the runaways had come into view; but that he could not leave Prince Piotr for a moment, for, having been aroused by the groom’s story, the boy had behaved--begging her Excellency’s pardon--like a young devil! Ah, he had blood, had the little Seigneur! Heaven be praised, he had blood! And just then, as if to demonstrate the truth of this greatly understated report, Piotr himself afforded his aunt evidence that left nothing to be desired, by creating an uproar of angular power.