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Michael Strogoff

User: silviya
Michael Strogoff
"Sire, A Fresh Dispatch."


"From Tomsk?"

"Is The Wire Cut Beyond That City?"

"Yes, Sire, Since Yesterday."

"Telegraph Hourly To Tomsk, General, And Keep Me Informed
Of All That Occurs."

"Sire, It Shall Be Done," Answered General Kissoff.

These Words Were Exchanged About Two Hours After Midnight,
At The Moment When The Fete Given At The New Palace Was At
The Height Of Its Splendor.

During The Whole Evening The Bands Of The Preobra-Jensky And Paulowsky
Regiments Had Played Without Cessation Polkas, Mazurkas, Schottisches,
And Waltzes From Among The Choicest Of Their Repertoires.
Innumerable Couples Of Dancers Whirled Through The Magnificent Saloons
Of The Palace, Which Stood At A Few Paces Only From The "Old House
Of Stones"--In Former Days The Scene Of So Many Terrible Dramas,
The Echoes Of Whose Walls Were This Night Awakened By The Gay Strains
Of The Musicians.

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