--and now. . . .

"Oh, Biron, Biron," he faintly groaned, "why must I overthrow you? You
loved me, and perhaps would one day have accorded me what you at first
refused! Biron, I have betrayed you with a kiss. It is your guardian
angel who is now avenging you!"

Thus he reached his palace, and the servants who opened the door of
his carriage started back with alarm at the fearful expression of their
master's face. It had become of an ashen gray, his blue lips quivered,
and his gloomily-gleaming eyes seemed to threaten those who dared
approach him.

Alighting in silence, he strode on through the rows of his trembling
servants. Suddenly two of his lackeys fell upon their knees before him,
weeping and sobbing; they stretched forth their hands to him, begging
for mercy.

"What have they done?" asked he of his major-domo.

"Feodor has had the misfortune to break your excellency's drinking-cup,
and Ivanovitch bears the blame of suffering your greyhound Artemisia to
escape."

A strange joy suddenly lighted up the brow of the count.

"Ah," said he, breathing more freely, and stretching himself up--"ah, I
thank God that I now have some one on whom I can wreak my vengeance!"

And kicking the unfortunate weeping and writhing servants, who were
crawling in the dust before him, Munnich cried:

"No mercy, you hounds--no, no mercy! You shall be scourged until you
have breathed out your miserable lives! The knout here! Strike! I will
look on from my windows, and see that my commands are executed! Ah, I
will teach you to break my cups and let my hounds escape! Scourge them
unto death! I will see their blood--their red, smoking blood!"

The field-marshal stationed himself at his open window. The servants had
formed a close circle around the unhappy beings who were receiving their
punishment in the court below. The air was filled with the shrieks of
the tortured men, blood flowed in streams over their flayed backs, and
at every new stroke of the knout they howled and shrieked for mercy;
while at every new shriek Munnich cried out to his executioners:

"No, no mercy, no pity! Scourge the culprits! I would, I must see blood!
Scourge them to death!"

Trembling, the band of servants looked on with folded hands; with a
savage smile upon his face, stood Count Munnich at his window above.

Weaker and weaker grew the cries of the unhappy sufferers--they no
longer prayed for mercy. The knout continued to flay their bodies, but
their