The two policemen, their last doubts dissipated by the promptitude with which the officers claimed their charge's acquaintance, acquiesced readily enough. A cab was procured and Petroff and his new-found friends installed therein, while the coachman was directed to drive to an address in a fashionable neighbourhood. As the vehicle started off, Petroff looked at his deliverers with fresh wonder. "Where have I met you before?" he murmured. "I don't seem to remember. Did you ever come to my boot-shop? If so, I mush have been drunk!" The officer thus addressed shook his head gravely. "We had the honour of meeting your Excellency when you served in the army." Petroff looked more puzzled than ever. "The army?" he repeated. "What do you mean? I'm not a soldier. I'm a bootmaker." The two officers exchanged glances. "I beg your pardon for venturing to contradict you, sir, but the Czar has just been pleased to promote you to major-general in appreciation of your distinguished services." Petroff smiled happily. "It's the first I've heard of it," he murmured. "I fancied, sir, that you might have been celebrating the appointment already," was the grave response. "We shall, however, be honoured if you will join us in a little refreshment. Our house is close at hand." "Certainly, my friends. I was going to have a drink when those rude policemen interfered just now." As the old man spoke the cab drew up at the door of a handsome building. The next moment Petroff found himself being ushered into a beautifully-furnished room. Here the first thing upon which his eyes fell was a sideboard covered with bottles and glasses. "How perfectly lovely!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands in ecstasy. "You don't know how thirsty I am. But what house is this?" "It is your house, general." The bootmaker's eyes blinked. "Who's a general?" he demanded, truculently. "I won't have you make fun of me." The senior of the two officers bowed deferentially. "Your Excellency is pleased to jest. Of course you are a general. As, however, it is only to-day that you were appointed one, it is quite possible that the fact has escaped your memory." Petroff's momentary anger evaporated at the speaker's apologetic tone. After all, it was much better to be a major-general than a bootmaker, and he was not going to quarrel with his good fortune. "I did forget it for the moment," he returned, "but I'll remember it now. If I'm a major-general, though, I must have something to drink, eh?" "Certainly, your Excellency," replied the other, as he uncorked a bottle of vodka and poured out a brimming glass. Petroff sat sipping it happily, when the second officer came over to his chair and saluted.