"He was riding with downcast eyes in the centre of a troop," continued the woman. "And when my goodman cried, 'Long live our prince,' one of the troopers struck him across the face with the flat of his sabre, bidding him begone for a traitor. Look at the mark of the sword," she screamed. "Yes," chimed in her husband, "and the princess herself passed by a minute later in her droshky, and drove off to the Palace, not looking one whit troubled by the thought of the duke's imprisonment." "Troubled, do you say?" cried his wife. "I never saw her looking more glad than she did to-night. And to think that a mere girl should have the power to arrest a big handsome man like our Duke John! We want a full-grown, bearded soldier to rule over us, and not a silly maid." "Especially a maiden under the thumb of Cardinal Ravenna," interjected a bystander. "We all know why she has imprisoned the duke; because he is a Greek, and loves the Muscovites and the great White Czar." "And the princess hates the Czar," cried the woman. "The shoes she wears in her palace are stamped on the sole with the portrait of our little father Nicholas, so that she may tread his image under foot whenever she walks." This little anecdote, entirely without truth, found ready credence among the haters of the princess. "She is removing the duke from his command to make way for Zabern. And why Zabern? Because he is a Pole, and a Catholic, and hates the Muscovites." Amid these observations, and others of a like character, the troika moved, its rate of progress gradually diminishing, until the vehicle was finally brought to a standstill by the immobility of the crowd in front, who either could not, or would not, move out of the way. "_Na pravo_--to the right!" cried those on the left angrily; while just as angrily those on the right cried,-- "_Na levo_--to the left!" Unable either to advance or retire, the occupants of the troika remained stationary, the centre of a crowd evidently bent on mischief, a crowd composed mainly of the lower orders,--or, to use the suggestive phrase of the Russians themselves, the "Tshornoi Narod," or "Black People." Russograd was at no time a safe place for the adherents of the princess; but in the present political crisis the sight of one wearing, as they supposed, the uniform of her _corps du garde_ raised the fanaticism of the Muscovite mob to a dangerous pitch. The three friends were ill prepared for repelling an attack. Paul was armed with his sabre only; Katina had her savage-looking whip; Trevisa was without weapon of any kind. Paul's chief fear was for Katina; but the maiden who had bravely endured the knout did not seem at all disconcerted by the circle of scowling faces. "My little mother, step aside there," she cried, toying with her whip, and gently endeavoring to urge the horses forward. "Now, old soldier, have a care."