mino still by me a mask was
all I wanted. I went to the palace in a sedan-chair, and found an immense
crowd assembled, and dancing going on in several halls in each of which
an orchestra was stationed. There were long counters loaded with eatables
and drinkables at which those who were hungry or thirsty ate or drank as
much as they liked. Gaiety and freedom reigned everywhere, and the light
of a thousand wax candles illuminated the hall. Everything was wonderful,
and all the more so from its contrast with the cold and darkness that
were without. All at once I heard a masquer beside me say to another,--

"There's the czarina."

We soon saw Gregory Orloff, for his orders were to follow the empress at
a distance.

I followed the masquer, and I was soon persuaded that it was really the
empress, for everybody was repeating it, though no one openly recognized
her. Those who really did not know her jostled her in the crowd, and I
imagined that she would be delighted at being treated thus, as it was a
proof of the success of her disguise. Several times I saw her speaking in
Russian to one masquer and another. No doubt she exposed her vanity to
some rude shocks, but she had also the inestimable advantage of hearing
truths which her courtiers would certainly not tell her. The masquer who
was pronounced to be Orloff followed her everywhere, and did not let her
out of his sight for a moment. He could not be mistaken, as he was an
exceptionally tall man and had a peculiar carriage of the head.

I arrested my progress in a hall where the French square dance was being
performed, and suddenly there appeared a masquer disguised in the
Venetian style. The costume was so complete that I at once set him down
as a fellow-countryman, for very few strangers can imitate us so as to
escape detection. As it happened, he came and stood next to me.

"One would think you were a Venetian," I said to him in French.

"So I am."

"Like myself."

"I am not jesting."

"No more am I."

"Then let us speak in Venetian."

"Do you begin, and I will reply."

We began our conversation, but when he came to the word Sabato, Saturday,
which is a Sabo in Venetian, I discovered that he was a real Venetian,
but not from Venice itself. He said I was right, and that he judged from
my accent that I came from Venice.

"Quite so," said I.

"I thought Bernadi was the only Venetian besides myself in St.
Petersburg."

"You see you are mistaken."

"My na