“I will take your horse, Pierrot,” I said; “and you can return and prepare my dinner, for I shall be hungry. Stay,” I added, as he turned to go, “tell Dr. von Gaden that I go to Prince Basil Galitsyn’s house and from there I shall return to my quarters.” I took this precaution, remembering my experience with the czarevna’s papers, and fearing that they might bring me ill luck again. Then I turned my horse’s head in the direction of the prince’s palace, and made what speed I could, traversing deserted streets again, for all the city was feasting on the hideous spectacle in the quarters of the Streltsi. My acquaintance with Galitsyn was slight; but I had early recognized his ability, and since Von Gaden’s eulogium, had taken a greater interest in him. That his star would rise in case of Sophia’s success, I did not doubt, and I felt some curiosity about the probable result of such an event. Galitsyn was at home, and I was granted immediate admittance. The prince was rich, and his house was furnished with Oriental magnificence; while I stood waiting in one of the anterooms, I had leisure to examine my surroundings, and notice the splendid hangings and luxurious furniture. I had always observed that he was more European in his habits and manners than the rest of the nobles about the court, and I saw here, in his house, the conjunction of Western civilization and Eastern splendor. The doors were open, and where I stood, I could look through a suite of apartments glittering with silver and gold, hung with the richest silks, and ornamented with marble statuary; it was a home worthy a _grand seigneur_. I suspected that he was a man of unlimited ambition, and I could but admire the shrewdness which had enabled him to gain an ascendency over the mind of the most brilliant member of the imperial family, for I never for a moment dreamed that Galitsyn reciprocated Sophia’s affection; but for political reasons, he probably feigned a devotion which he did not feel; such is the misfortune of princesses. Looking back now upon that day, I see how little any of us reckoned on the future of the boy czar,--Peter Alexeivitch, whose hold upon the scepter seemed so slight, yet whose iron hand would one day mold and weld the disintegrated empire into a great state, and sway the destiny of Russia. I scarcely heeded then the shrewd Von Gaden’s estimate of the young Tartar; the Jew was the only one who recognized the star that was rising out of that sea of intrigue and misrule.