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the overcast day we occasionally encountered people walking on the paths in the park. This, as my Moscow assistant had explained to me, was because the Neskuchny Park was not usually open to the public. Its gates had only been opened in connection with the festivities, and then just for a few days – until the ninth of May, when the emperor and empress would move here from the Petrovsky Palace. It was hardly surprising that some Muscovites had decided to take advantage of the rare opportunity to ramble through this forbidden territory, undeterred by the poor weather.
    Approximately halfway back to the Hermitage we encountered an elegant middle-aged gentleman. He politely raised his top hat, exposing a head of smooth black hair with grey temples. He glanced at Xenia Georgievna inquisitively, but without offending against the proprieties, and walked on by. I would not have taken any notice of this gentleman if Her Highness had not suddenly looked round to watch him walk away and Mademoiselle Declique had not followed her example. At that point I took the liberty of looking round myself.
    The elegant gentlemanwaswalking on unhurriedly, swinging his cane, and I failed to notice anything whatsoever in his figure that ought to have made the grand princess and her governess glance round. But walking behind us, in the same direction as ourselves, there was a man of truly remarkable appearance: broad-shouldered and stocky, with a shaggy black beard. He ran the searing gaze of his ferocious coal-black eyes over me and began whistling some chansonette or other that I did not know.
    This individual appeared suspicious to me, and I promised myself that we would not come here again until the park was closed once more. Who could tellwhat kind of riff-raff – begging your pardon – might take a fancy to promenading here?
    As if to confirmmy misgivings, a bandy-legged, squat Chinese pedlar camewaddling out from round the corner, carrying a tray of his dubious wares. The poor fellow had obviously thought that there would be many more people strolling in the park that day, but he had been unlucky with the weather.
    When His Highness caught sight of a real live Chinaman, he pulled his hand free and went dashing towards the short, slant-eyed Oriental as fast as his legs would carry him.
    ‘I want that!’ Mikhail Georgievich shouted. ‘I want that one!’
    And he pointed at a poisonous-pink sugar lollipop in the form of a pagoda.
    ‘ Ne montrez pas du doigt !’ 3 Mademoiselle cried.
    Xenia Georgievna caught up with her brother, took hold of his hand again and asked: ‘ À quoi bon tu veux ce truc ?’ 4
    ‘ Je veux, c’est tout !’ 5 His Highness snapped and jutted out his chin, demonstrating remarkable obstinacy for his age, and obstinacy is an excellent foundation for the development of character.
    ‘Ah, Afanasii, buy him it,’ Xenia Georgievna said, turning to me. ‘He’ll never stop pestering me now. He’ll lick it once and throw it away.’
    The grand princess had no money of her own and in general I believe that she did not even know what it looked like, or what it was worth. Why would she need to?
    I looked at Mademoiselle, since it was her decision. She wrinkled up her nose and shrugged her shoulders.
    To give him his due, the Chinese did not make any attempt to impose his nightmarish merchandise on us; he merely peered at His Highness through the blank slits of his eyes. Some Chinese can be genuinely handsome – with delicate features, white skin and elegant movements – but this one was truly ugly. A flat face as round as a pancake and short hair that jutted straight up.
    ‘Hey, pedlar, howmuch is that?’ I asked, pointing at the pagoda and taking out my purse.
    ‘One roubr,’ the insolent Oriental replied, evidently having realised from my appearance that I would not try to haggle with him.
    I gave the extortioner a ‘canary’, although the lollipop was worth no more than five kopecks at the most, and we walked