The latter had secretly learnt much concerning the ex-thief of the far-off Siberian village--more, indeed, than Rasputin had ever dreamed. One day, a week after the departure of Mademoiselle Sophie Tutcheff, the Grand Duke attended a great reception at the Winter Palace. The usual brilliant throng had assembled; the usual Imperial procession had taken place down the great Nicholas Hall, that famous salon wherein three thousand people can dance at one time--the salon the walls of which are adorned with golden plates, and where on the night of a Court ball the assembly is indeed a gorgeous one of stars, medals, exquisite dresses and brilliant uniforms. Though Russia was at war, the Empress had given the ball, and all Russian Court Society had assembled. Among the throng were two men the Bishop Teofan, of the Pravoslavny Church, and with him the monk, silent and unbending, upon whom the eyes of all the women were turned. Naturally there were many strange whisperings among those who were "Believers" and those who had not been initiated into the cult of the "Sister-disciples," whispers among the old and young--whispers which were not meant for any male ear. Bishop and monk passed down the great ballroom, through the beautiful winter-garden beyond, where many men and women were chatting beneath the palms, and then into the Oriental gallery, a place decorated with those engraved golden and silver plates which Catherine the Great received with bread and salt from those who came to do her homage. Thence the pair disappeared into one of the side rooms to what is known as the Jordan Entrance. A tall, bald-headed man with heavy brow, moustache, small round beard, and wearing a brilliant white uniform with many decorations had followed the pair from the ball-room. With him walked a young, clean-shaven, dark-haired man in uniform, erect and determined. The elder was the Grand Duke Nicholas Michailovitch, the younger the Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovitch. They entered the small room unceremoniously, and confronted the illiterate Bishop and the peasant charlatan. "We have come to turn you out of the Palace!" exclaimed the elder man firmly. "Your presence is obnoxious to us, especially the charlatan of Pokrovsky. We are Grand Dukes of Russia, and we have no intention to mix with convicted thieves and beguilers of women! Come!" His Imperial Highness cried, "Go! You are not wanted here!" "And pray by what right do you speak thus?" asked the Starets with offensive insolence. "By the right of my position," was the Grand Duke's reply. In response, Rasputin spat upon the pale blue carpet in defiance.