But Madame Svetchine, springing to her feet, cried: "It is monstrous! Disgraceful! Blasphemous! It is true what Purichkevitch has said in the Duma--that you are the evil force in Russia! Though a woman, I will have none of your mock piety and disgraceful licentiousness!" "Ah! I see, madame, that you are an enemy--eh?" he said in a slow, deliberate way. "And let me tell you, when Gregory Rasputin has an enemy, he does not rest until that enemy is swept from his path. If you defy me, you defy your God!" "I defy you!" cried the woman shrilly, making a dramatic scene. "But I fear my God, and Him alone." "Oh! be silent, I beg!" cried Countess Lazareff in French, wringing her hands, she having introduced her, while all were horrified that the holy Father should be thus openly denounced before his "sisters." "What is that woman saying?" the monk shouted across to me, for he did not know French, and was suspicious that the words contained yet another insult until I translated them to him. "I refuse to be silent!" declared the colonel's young wife. "I will describe to all whom I meet what has taken place here to-day--the mockery of it all. It is shameful how any woman in her senses, refined and educated, should fall beneath the fascination of such a brute!" This was greeted with wild exclamations of surprise and indignation. Indeed, so furious became the "sisters" at such open insult that I was, at Rasputin's orders, compelled to conduct her out. In the hall the young lady, who was certainly very pretty, became quite quiet again, and turning to me said: "Monsieur Rajevski, I came here on purpose to denounce that infernal charlatan who is your employer. I am not without friends--and influential ones. I have spoken my mind fearlessly and openly. No doubt I have made an enemy of Grichka, but for that I care nothing, so long as I have exposed him." Little did the unfortunate young lady know of Rasputin's low cunning and diabolical unscrupulousness when she had uttered those words. I made no reply, for I feared that she would live to regret having created that scene in the monk's holy-of-holies. Late that evening, having been out, I returned to find the "saint" seated with the Minister Maklakoff, the man whom the newspaper _Utro Rossy_ described as "The love-sick Panther." Both were in an advanced state of intoxication, and when I entered, Rasputin, in a thick voice, exclaimed: "Ah! my dear Feodor, I have just been describing the scene to-day with that woman Anastasia Svetchine--the little spitfire! But a pretty woman, Feodor--very pretty woman, eh? It's a pity"--he sighed--"a great pity!" "Why?" asked the long-moustached Minister, who had just come from an official reception, and was in his hussar uniform, with gold braid and many decorations. "Are you not better rid of her, my friend? Women of her sort are usually dangerous."