Upon the arrival of the good news, ten members of the imperial house of Romanoff--the eleventh, Grand Duke Michael, being then at Warsaw with the Grand Duke Constantine--assembled to early mass in the chapel of the Winter Palace, the highest ecclesiastical dignitary being the celebrant. The chapel was crowded with high officials, magnates, and officers of rank. The choir intoned the collect, "God preserve the Czar!" As the protopope was in the act of opening the jewelled book upon the altar, and with trembling voice was about to begin intoning the prayer for the Czar's recovery, suddenly, in the devotional stillness, a harsh voice, like the sharp stroke of a bell, called out: "He is dead already!" The terrified congregation mechanically made a passage for the new-comer, whose light-green beshmet was streaming with the mud of many a Russian province--the black mud of the Nogai steppes, the yellow mud of Moscow, the chalky clay of Novgorod, and the greeny slime of Czarskoje Zelo. In his hand the messenger held a letter, with which he pressed forward through the throng direct to the Grand Duke Nicholas. It was the Czarina's letter to the Dowager Czarina. The Grand Duke, taking the letter, opened it himself. Then, hurriedly going up to the protopope, whispered something in his ear. Upon which the protopope, covering the crucifix he held in his hand with crape, advanced to the Czarina Marie, saying: "Thy son is dead!" And, the choir breaking off their _Te Deum_, in another minute the burial hymn mournfully resounded through the chapel: "Lord! send him eternal peace!" The service which had begun as a _Te Deum_ had ended as a requiem. CHAPTER XLVI "BEATUS ILLE ..." What, on this earth, is true happiness? To be able to dissociate one's self from the tussle and tangle of the political arena. There is no such happy man on this earth as your landed proprietor, who only learns what is going on in the political world from the columns of his daily paper. In the morning he goes out coursing; starts three hares, two of which are caught by his terriers; this is a real triumph. The third they let run; this is a disgrace. But on the way home his dogs seize and throttle a wildcat; that makes up for the former vexation. His horse stumbles over a stone; that is a great misfortune. But neither man nor horse are any the worse for it; and that is a piece of good-luck. Within easy distance live some men--jolly fellows--to whom he can detail the morning's doings, and who, in return, give their adventures. At noon the wife awaits her husband's return to a well-spread board, and she hospitably presses his friends to stay. Cabbage with fried sausages is very acceptable after such an active morning! After dinner they find they are just enough for a game of tarok, and the husband can boast next day how he has conquered against long odds.