In a moment the young Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovitch, an athletic young officer who had only the day before returned from the German Front where he had been with von Rennenkampf, took the dirty monk by the scruff of his neck and flung him outside into the big marble hall, administering to him a severe kick in the presence of a dozen of the astonished Palace guards. "Put this scoundrel outside!" he commanded the men, and two minutes later, Rasputin, with his dirty black habit badly torn, found himself flung down the steps headlong into the snow. Meanwhile the Grand Duke Nicholas had administered to the dissolute Bishop--whose sister, by the way, was one of Rasputin's "spiritual brides" at his monastery, or harem, at Pokrovsky--a very severe castigation and with his own hands had torn the big crucifix from his neck and cast it across the room. Then, when at last the Bishop emerged into the Hall, he shared, at the Grand Duke's order, the same indignity that had befallen the dissolute blackguard whom the Empress caressed and called her "Holy Father." Of this episode Rasputin made no mention to Her Majesty. It, however, caused him considerable misgivings and before morning he had decided upon a dramatic course of action. Next afternoon, a Wednesday, was the day fixed for the usual performance of the bi-weekly secret rites. He took luncheon with the Emperor and Empress in their private apartments, Madame Vyrubova alone being the only other person at table. Suddenly the monk who had been talking with the Emperor, using his uncouth Siberian expressions, and even eating with his fingers, clasped his knotted, peasant fingers together and turning to the Empress, announced: "To-night, Great Lady, I go upon a pilgrimage. Divine God has called me to Moscow, where work there awaits me. I know not what it is, but when I arrive there I shall receive His divine direction. Alexis will be well in my absence, and will improve, for twice each day he will have my prayers. God has called me--I cannot remain." "Not even this afternoon?" gasped the unnerved hysterical woman who was Empress of Russia in this our Twentieth Century. "No. I must take leave of you, great lady, to obey the call," was his deep answer. And by that night's express he left in a luxurious sleeping-berth for Moscow where, truth to tell, the Countess Ignatieff was awaiting him.