on what footing I should
be received here, especially since Mishka's remark, a while back, about
the "prisoner." But some one--Loris himself or Mishka, or both of
them--had planned things perfectly, and I am sure that no one beyond
ourselves and the elder Pavloff, who was also in the secret, had the
slightest suspicion that I was other than I appeared to be.

My new acquaintance himself conducted me to the rooms prepared for
me,--a spacious bedroom and sitting-room, with plain, massive furniture,
including a big bookcase that occupied the whole of an alcove between
the great Russian stove and the outer wall. Facing this was a door
leading to a smaller dressing and bath room, where the lackey who had
carried up my valise was in waiting.

"This Nicolai will be in attendance on you; he speaks German," my
courteous guide informed me in French. "He will bring you all you need;
you have only to give him orders. You will dine at the officers' mess,
and after dinner his Highness will give you audience."

"Does Monsieur Pavloff--the land steward--live in the castle?" I asked,
thinking it wise to emphasize my assumed role. "I understand that I'll
have to work with him."

"No; his house is some two versts distant. But he is often in attendance
here, naturally. Perhaps you will see him to-night; if not, without
doubt, you will meet him to-morrow. Nicolai awaits your orders, and your
keys."

He bowed ceremoniously, and took himself off.

That Nicolai was a smart fellow. He already had the bath prepared,--I
must have looked as if I wanted one,--and when I gave him the key of my
bag, he laid out my clothes with the quick deftness of a well-trained
valet.

I told him I shouldn't want him any more at present, but when I had
bathed and changed, I found him still hovering around in the next room.
He had set a tea-table, on which the silver samovar was hissing
invitingly. He wanted to stay and wait on me, but I wouldn't have that.
Smart and attentive as he was, he got on my nerves, and I felt I'd
rather be alone. So I dismissed him, and, in obedience to some instinct
I didn't try to analyze, crossed the room softly, and locked the door
through which he had passed.

I had scarcely seated myself, and poured out a glass of delicious
Russian tea,--which is as wine to water compared with the crude
beverage, diluted with cream, which Americans and western Europeans call
tea,--when I heard a queer little sound behind me. I glanced back