ok as he
announced the name; and, while he closed the door that shut this madman
from his sight, he longed and yet dreaded to hear his Majesty's first
words. Should he--had he time to--rush forth and spread abroad the news
of Gregoriev's fall, before the broken man should issue from that
ominously quiet room? Fortunately for himself, the master of ceremonies
was hardly of an adventurous disposition. He cogitated the matter till
he felt it too late to perform the errand and get back in time to see
Gregoriev's expression as he emerged from the Presence. Nevertheless,
minute after minute went by, till an hour had passed: time for a
comprehensive reproof and dismissal, truly! But the feeble-minded one
was prepared for anything by the time the miracle happened. It was three
o'clock before he beheld, issuing from the audience-chamber, side by
side and chatting together in tones of intimacy, Michael Petrovitch
Gregoriev and Nicholas I., Emperor of Russia. Nor was that all. For it
was the face not of the official but of his Imperial Majesty, that wore
an expression of uneasiness, of disquietude, almost--of alarm.

Gregoriev left the Kremlin, by the Gate of the Saviour, on foot. He had
dismissed his sleigh upon his arrival. But, though the afternoon was yet
young, the light of the brief winter day was almost gone. Lights were
appearing in the shop-windows of the Tverskaia as Michael, muffled
comfortably in his sables, entered the celebrated street and walked
along it, leisurely, in a direction leading directly away from his
distant palace. He had no definite goal in mind. He was in the high
humor of immediate success. Many-colored Moscow lay all about him: his
city, wherein he was known to and feared by, nearly every man. Labyrinth
though it was, there was scarcely a corner, an alley, a court-yard in
that most jumbled of cities that he did not know. Moscow belonged to him
as London to Dickens, Paris to Balzac. And, like the great novelists,
his walks, always a delight, played also an important part in his
profession. It was, however, rare that he issued forth in his present
guise. The Iakiminskaia, for instance, saw him oftenest as a petty
merchant; the Piatnitskaia as a Jewish or Tatar trader; the Basmanaia as
a soldier, or petty officer off duty; other quarters as a member of a
workingman's artel, a university hanger-on, or a loafer, as the
neighborhood demanded. To-day, however, being himself, he directed his
steps towards th