BEFORE I left Von Gaden, I had learned the exact locality of Ramodanofsky’s house. I scarcely knew what design was forming in my mind; but my love of adventure was keen, and the story I had just heard affected me deeply. If I was half in love before with the beautiful stranger, I was now wholly so with the young orphan, whose peculiar circumstances appealed to the romance in my nature. If I had ever considered obstacles or difficulties, I should not have allowed myself such a day-dream; but I was resolved upon gaining a closer acquaintance with the Ramodanofskys, and I did not count the cost. The shadows of the early Russian twilight had gathered when I went out, and it was strangely quiet after the tumult of the day, and yet the very air seemed to be portentous; the grim-faced houses looked as if they were locking some dark secret in their bosoms; and now and then a lurking figure started from the shadow of the wall and scurried into a softly opened door. As I walked on, my own footsteps startled an echo in the silence; and it was almost a shock to hear, far off, the sudden roll of a drum, a sound which came and died away as quickly, leaving behind a greater quietude. I had no love for the city--I was a Frenchman to the core; yet there was something about Moscow on that night that impressed me more deeply than any city in which I had ever sojourned. There was a solemnity, a desolation which seemed to speak of the miseries and sins of the suffering masses. I had been but lately at Versailles, in the midst of the splendors of the Grand Monarque’s brilliant court, and here was a wondrous contrast: here, too, was an absolute monarchy, but without the master hand, the iron grip that keeps the helm of state. Here was a court whose ceremonial was as stately as any in the world; but how strong was the feeling of instability! I looked at the Kremlin; within it lay the dead Feodor, not yet buried, and within it, too, was the young czar,--a child, and a tool as yet in the hands of an intriguing party. I had known the Czar Feodor, and had been a recipient of his kindness; and I knew all the prominent figures in the drama of to-day,--it had been a drama to me, and I had not dreamed, and did not dream that night, of the part I was to play in that great tragedy, which was approaching swiftly, silently, malignantly, along the dark streets and in the hidden quarters of the city. As I reached the neighborhood of the Ramodanofsky house, I noticed that I was no longer solitary. A man was walking along ahead of me, and something in his figure seemed familiar; still, I slackened my pace, having no desire for company. He was evidently observant of my movements, and as little inclined to sociability as I. He kept in the shadow on the other side of the street, and something in his manner of lurking made me loosen my sword in the scabbard and feel for my pistols.