a tangled stream, slow, smiling, confused, and excited. I pushed
my way along, and at last tumbled down the dark stone steps into the
"Cave de la Grave," a little restaurant patronised by the foreigners and
certain middle-class Russians. It was full, and every one was eating his
or her meal very comfortably as though nothing at all were the matter. I
sat down with a young American, an acquaintance of mine attached to the
American Embassy.

"There's a tremendous crowd in the Nevski," I said.

"Guess I'm too hungry to trouble about it," he answered.

"Do you think there's going to be any trouble?" I asked.

"Course not. These folks are always wandering round. M. Protopopoff has
it in hand all right."

"Yes, I suppose he has," I answered with a sigh.

"You seem to want trouble," he said, suddenly looking up at me.

"No, I don't want trouble," I answered. "But I'm sick of this mess, this
mismanagement, thievery, lying--one's tempted to think that anything
would be better--"

"Don't you believe it," he said brusquely. "Excuse me, Durward, I've
been in this country five years. A revolution would mean God's own
upset, and you've got a war on, haven't you?"

"They might fight better than ever," I argued.

"Fight!" he laughed. "They're dam sick of it all, that's what they are.
And a revolution would leave 'em like a lot of silly sheep wandering on
to a precipice. But there won't be no revolution. Take my word."

It was at that moment that I saw Boris Grogoff come in. He stood in the
doorway looking about him, and he had the strangest air of a man walking
in his sleep, so bewildered, so rapt, so removed was he. He stared about
him, looked straight at me, but did not recognise me; finally, when a
waiter showed him a table, he sat down still gazing in front of him. The
waiter had to speak to him twice before he ordered his meal, and then he
spoke so strangely that the fellow looked at him in astonishment. "Guess
that chap's seen the Millennium," remarked my American. "Or he's drunk,
maybe."

This appearance had the oddest effect on me. It was as though I had been
given a sudden conviction that after all there was something behind this
disturbance. I saw, during the whole of the rest of that day, Grogoff's
strange face with the exalted, bewildered eyes, the excited mouth, the
body tense and strained as though waiting for a blow. And now, always
when I look back I see Boris Grogoff standing in the doorway of the
"Cave d