Without heeding, the stranger forced his way among them, dragging along his captive, and only bestowing a scornful glance on the populace. I was more than ever struck with his air of authority, and saw that these men all gave way to him,--a tacit recognition of his commanding mien, for a less determined man could never have broken up that quarrel and dispersed the crowd. My interest was sufficiently roused to make me forget my anxiety to be rid of him, and as he pushed along with the crestfallen victor, I joined him. As we proceeded, part of the rabble followed, evidently actuated by idle curiosity. “Let us move faster,” I remarked to the stranger; “now that the election is over, the crowd is breaking away, and we shall presently have the _canaille_ at our heels.” He looked at me scornfully, I thought, but still mended his pace; and as we were now a little away from the mob, he took his hand off the other’s collar, addressing him sharply. “You fool!” he said, in his grim way. “You will spoil all with your absurd brawls. Can’t you see that villain’s cook in the highway without thrashing him, and forthwith drawing the notice of all the tale-bearers and spies in Moscow?” “I beg your excellency’s pardon,” stammered the man, shamefaced, “but it was that carrion Polotsky, and I would rather die than not beat him!” “Ay!” retorted the other, grimly, “you should have cut his throat long ago; but, as it is, he is the worst one you could have selected for a street brawl. You are an ass, Michael Gregorievitch, and will not only hang yourself, but your master if you can find enough rope!” The other man glanced at me obliquely out of his narrow eyes, and his master, noting the look and the interrogation in his face, smiled. “A friend,” he said, and added something in an undertone which escaped me; but I saw his servant’s eyes fasten curiously upon me. We were approaching the Cathedral of the Assumption, and although a few paces in advance, were still closely followed by a train of curious people. The stranger had drawn his sword when he rushed into the fight, and was still carrying the naked blade in his hand, and his dress being disordered, displayed his uniform. As we approached the cathedral, he seemed to divine my intention of lingering in that vicinity, and pausing, extended his hand with a gesture at once dignified and gracious. “M. de Brousson,” he said, startling me with my own name, “I believe we part here. I thank you for your company across the square, and if, in the future, you need me, I am Peter Lykof.” “I am evidently better known to you than I supposed,” I replied as courteously as my astonishment would permit, and conscious of an immediate doubt that I heard the unknown’s true name; “and I am equally beholden for monsieur’s society on this troubled day.” Lykof waved his hand, as if dismissing further exchange of courtesies, and passed on with the rabble at his heels, while I at once fell into insignificance without him.