A mob is like a wild beast, curbed by the steadiest nerve, and I saw that I might hold these furies at bay just as long as I kept my head. Zénaïde was bravely silent, but I felt her shiver as she leaned against me. The worst aspect of it was that the throng was becoming larger, and at any moment might be beyond my control; one of the ringleaders too was disposed to have my blood. “How do we know that the fellow is speaking the truth?” he exclaimed. “Who knows that he is the envoy of the King of France?” “He looks a squire of dames,” a voice cried in the crowd, and there was a shout of derision. Another second, and I could not control them. I ran my eye despairingly along the ring of ferocious faces. Suddenly I saw the head of Michael, Ramodanofsky’s man, craned over the others. I hailed the sight with joy. “There is one of your own men who knows me,” I exclaimed, pointing at him. He evidently divined the situation, if he did not recognize Zénaïde, and pushed forward, whispering something to the ringleaders that damped their impetuosity. But, even then, we were in great peril, until a sudden diversion released us. “There goes Peter Naryshkin!” rose a shriek to the left, and the ring around us dissolved, and they were off, full cry, after the unfortunate, whom they brutally murdered, although he proved to be not a Naryshkin, but the son of a boyar, Feodor Soltykof. At the moment of the break, I hurried Zénaïde away. The rioters had occupied the Red Staircase and were swarming into the palace, so that it was impossible to gain access there, and it was necessary to hide her at once from the sight of the mob. The only refuge that occurred to me was one of the cathedrals, and with a common impulse, we hastened in the direction of the Church of the Resurrection. On every side the work of death was going on, and the ground was slippery with blood. I turned out of my path that Zénaïde might not see a hideous corpse which I recognized, by the dress alone, as that of the Chancellor Matveief. She displayed unusual courage, walking with a firm step amid scenes of such horror that they sickened me--a man and a soldier. I had hoped that Michael might join us, but he had been pushed away by the furious pursuit of Peter Naryshkin, and I had to depend on my own sword and my own wits to bring her safe through. Pushed hither and thither by the surging crowd, we finally reached the rear of the cathedral. Here it was comparatively quiet, and I paused to look about for a way to enter without going to the front, that we might escape the rioters. “There is a postern to the left,” Zénaïde said, rousing herself, and speaking in a quiet voice.