Carola Dunn by Lady in the Briars

Winter Palace and in a nearby barracks. If he was not at home, the genial hussar was willing to take John all over the city in search of him.
    A liveried porter ushered the gentlemen into a high-ceilinged entrance hall whence a magnificent double stair of marble swept up to the upper regions of the house. He gave their visiting cards to a footman, one of three waiting in the hall, who hurried above-stairs with them. Moments later Kolya ran down, beaming a delighted welcome.
    “John, my dear fellow!” he cried in slightly accented English, seizing both his hands. Having spent several months in England, he knew better than to kiss him. “What the devil are you doing in St Petersburg?”
    John grinned at his friend. Tall, thin and lively, Kolya looked the same as ever. Though his hair was light brown and his eyes hazel, the shape of the latter gave his long face an oriental slant that supported his claim to a Tartar princess somewhere in his family tree. He was dressed in the uniform of the Tsar’s own Preobrazhensky regiment of the Imperial Guards, dark green with red sleeves and facings.
    “It’s good to see you again, Kolya. I’ll tell you all about it later. I believe you know Volodya, who was kind enough to bring me to you.”
    “Knyaz Vladimir Dmitrievich, nyet?” Kolya and the captain shook hands, apparently not being on hugging terms.
    John did his best to look blank during the ensuing brief conversation in Russian. Kolya thanked the hussar and offered refreshments, which were refused. Volodya did not want to interrupt the reunion of old friends which ought to be carried on in English, milord’s French being as bad as his own. He was on duty tonight, but perhaps Nikolai Mikhailovich would be good enough to convey to milord his invitation to join a party of friends the following evening.
    Kolya translated, while John nodded and smiled.
    “Enchantay,” he accepted, and the captain took his leave.
    “Come up to my rooms,” Kolya suggested, starting up the stairs. “Stepka, some refreshments at once! Now tell me, John, how come you to be in Russia?”
    “I’m in disgrace,” John confessed, and told again the story of the duel, this time with various embellishments that he knew would amuse his friend. “I have already told the tale to one of your countrymen, who was flabbergasted that Englishmen could joke about an affair of honour.”
    Kolya laughed. “English are indeed curious nation. Here, this is my sitting room.” Turning to the icon hanging on the wall with a lamp burning before it, he crossed himself, then shrugged. “Old childhood habit. Tell me, how is your friend Mr. Fitzsimmons?”
    They were talking of mutual acquaintances when three servants brought refreshments. A number of bottles and dishes were set out on the table in the window, then one of them dismissed the others, bowed, and spoke to Kolya in a low voice.
    “Stepka says that my father has heard of your arrival and hopes you will dine with us today. I have told him how kind Duke of Stafford was to me in London and he wishes to meet his son. It will not be amusing evening I had planned for us, I fear,” Kolya said.
    “I shall be honoured to meet the prince,” John said with more politeness than truth.
    “Do not fear, most of my family speaks English, to some degree at least. We had for many years English governess, as I think I have told you once.” He informed the servant that milord would stay to dinner and the man left. “Let me pour you some wine, or will you try our pivo? It is nearest thing to your ale. I must go for one hour or two to palace this afternoon. Will you come with me? It is not so exotic as Carlton House of your prince, or Brighton Pavilion that they call ‘Little Kremlin,’ but I think you will enjoy to see it.”
              Kolya drove a troika to the Winter Palace. John exacted a promise to teach him the art of driving three horses abreast, the outer two of which were harnessed so that their