“You must live, that you may see us in our greatness,” said the prince. Ostermann feebly shook his head. “I see, I see it all,” said he. “You will liberate yourself from one tyrant, your highness, to become the prey of another. The eyes of the dying see clear, and I tell you, duchess, you were already on the point of giving away the power you have attained. Know you what Munnich’s demand will be?” “Well?” “He will demand what Biron refused him, and for which refusal Munnich became his enemy. He will ask you to appoint him generalissimo of all your forces by land and sea.” “Then will he demand what naturally belongs to me,” said the prince, excitedly, “and we shall of course refuse it.” “Yes, we must refuse it,” repeated the princess. “And in that you will do well,” said Count Ostermann. “I may venture to say so, as I have no longer the least ambition--death will soon relieve me from all participation in affairs of state. I am a feeble old man, and desire nothing more than to be allowed occasionally to impart good counsels to my benefactors. And this is now my advice: Guard yourselves against the ambition of Count Munnich.” “We shall bear your counsel in mind,” said the prince. “We will not appoint him generalissimo!” exclaimed the princess. “He must never forget that he is our servant, and we his masters.” “And now permit me to go, your highness,” said Ostermann. “Will you have the kindness, prince, to command your lackeys to bear me to my sedan-chair? It is impossible for me to walk a step. Yes, yes, while you are this night contending for a throne, I shall, perhaps, be struggling with death.” And with a groan, sinking back into the arms of the lackeys whom the prince had called, Ostermann suffered himself to be carried down to his chair, which awaited him at the door. He groaned and cried out as they placed him in it, but as soon as its doors were closed and his serfs were trotting with him toward his own palace, the suffering expression vanished from Ostermann’s face, and a sly smile of satisfaction played upon his lips. “I think I have well employed my time,” he muttered to himself. “The good Munnich will never become generalissimo, and poor old failing Ostermann may now, unsuspected, go quietly to bed and comfortably await the coming events. Such an illness, at the right time, is an insurance against all accidents and miscarriages. I learned that after the death of Peter II. Who knows what would then have become of me had I not been careful to remain sick in bed until Anna had mounted the throne? I will, therefore, again be sick, and in the morning we shall see! Should this conjuration succeed, very well; then, perhaps, old Ostermann will gradually recover sufficient health to take yet a few of the burdens of state upon his own shoulders, and thus relieve the good Munnich of a part of his cares!” THE NIGHT OF THE CONSPIRACY