adherence of the Streltsi to Peter’s party,--a sore point, and one which was uppermost in every mind on that momentous night. The colonel had a swaggering confidence in the ability of Prince Dolgoruky and the officers to pacify the troops, which was not reflected in the keen face of Vladimir; I saw the contemptuous attention that he bestowed upon his visitor, probably estimating readily the amount of blustering importance that was assumed on account of the presence of the czar’s cousin. Viatscheslav himself was taking far less interest in the dispute than he was in his _vodka_ and caviare; I knew him to be a _gourmand_, and watched his performance with scornful amusement; here was a suitor who could, at least, do justice to the refreshments. After a while, the boyar brought the dispute to a close, and the officer, evidently feeling that his company was superfluous, withdrew, leaving Naryshkin still hugging his cup of _vodka_. But as soon as Viatscheslav found himself alone with the boyar, I saw that the conversation was immediately becoming more personal, and they got their heads together over the table. It seemed to me that Ramodanofsky felt some contempt for his guest, although he treated him with marked courtesy. After a little, it became evident that Naryshkin was asking to see Zénaïde, and the boyar, summoning an attendant, sent him in quest of his niece. In spite of my difficult and precarious position, my interest was now so keen that I would not have quitted my place but to save my life. The servant’s face showed at once that he did not relish his errand, and after a prolonged absence, he returned with a message that Mademoiselle Zénaïde would see no one at that hour. The boyar looked like a thunder-cloud, but making a brief apology to Viatscheslav, he left the room to fetch his niece himself. I looked narrowly at the house to see if I could ascertain which window belonged to the young girl. A bright light from one in the wing shone full on the wall opposite, and presently, on that square of illumination, I saw outlined distinctly the shadow of a woman’s figure. Convinced at once that it was Zénaïde’s shadow, I watched it with a kind of fascination; at first she stood alone, and by her pose and gesture seemed to be talking to some one, talking with excitement, and making occasionally a vehement gesture. Then on the bright square was cast another silhouette, that of a man,--of Ramodanofsky; he, too, was making gestures even more vehement than hers; at first, he seemed to plead with and then went on to threaten her. I could read the whole scene in that dumb shadow-show upon the wall. Suddenly he struck her, and then both shadows slipped off the bright space, and in my anger and surprise, I dropped to the ground.