They had; in fact they had all been ordered to be on the watch for a man who had escaped from Nadson--a foreigner. “That’s the very man,” said Drexel. “Was he indeed!” they exclaimed. One stooped and put his ear to Freeman’s chest. “Is he dead?” asked Drexel. “No.” A mighty pang of regret went through him. “He’ll likely come to in a few minutes,” added the policeman. Drexel thought quickly. If Freeman revived, this would be no company for him. “Will you take charge of him, and take him to headquarters?” he asked. “I want to catch my horse.” They were proud to lead to their chief this prize prisoner. Tired as he was, Drexel set off at a swift run in the direction taken by the big black. He sped over the ice till he knew the night blotted him out of the policemen’s vision, then he made for the bank and doubled about in obscure streets. Now that his fury was spent, the great agony of his love swept into him; and obeying its direction, he made his way among government buildings and palaces, and came out again beside the river and stood leaning upon its granite wall. Behind him was the hushed mansion of the Valenkos. He gazed up at the dim-lighted window where watch was being kept over the sick princess--her for whom all noble St. Petersburg was anxiously concerned. If St. Petersburg only knew! Then he cast his eye across the river to where, in the moonlight, like some fearsome, man-consuming monster of tradition, lay the long, low, black shape that was the Fortress of Peter and Paul; wherein, for close upon two hundred years, men and women distasteful to the Czars had been tortured, murdered, driven mad--wherein this night, in some dark and soundless dungeon, lay the woman of his love, awaiting on the morrow who knew what? CHAPTER XXII A VICE-CZAR DOES HIS DUTY This same evening Prince Berloff dined with the Howards at their hotel. There were a score of noble guests, the highest of the new friends Berloff would bring to Alice, and the dinner was as elaborate as Russia’s capital could provide. In a way this was a farewell function given by her parents in honour of Alice; on the day after the morrow, in the gilded splendour of St. Isaac’s Cathedral, she was to become the Princess Berloff. The prince, in his dress uniform of a colonel of the Czar’s guards, with his breast a-glitter with jewelled orders, looked a bridegroom worth any millionaire’s money; and Alice, flushed with excitement, given a new dignity by the nearness of her ennoblement, looked a bride well worth the payment of any princely name.