and three noblemen—among them Count
Osterman, the original cause of the troubles
in Russia—were woke out of their first sleep
with the information that they were state
prisoners, and were started before daylight
on their way to Siberia. At the same time
the thirty-three conspirators were scattered
about in every barrack-room in St. Petersburg,
proclaiming Elizabeth Empress, in right
of her illustrious parentage, and in the name
of the Russian people. Soon after daylight,
the moment the working population was
beginning to be astir, the churches were
occupied by trusty men under Lestoc's orders,
and the oaths of fidelity to Elizabeth were
administered to the willing populace as fast
as they came in to morning prayers. By nine
o'clock the work was done; the people were
satisfied; the army was gained over; Elizabeth
sat on her father's throne, unopposed,
unquestioned, unstained by the shedding of a drop
of blood; and Lestoc and the Marquis could
rest from their labours at last, and could say
to each other with literal truth, "The government
of Russia has been changed in nine
hours, and we two foreigners are the men
who have worked the miracle!"

Such was the Russian revolution of seventeen
hundred and forty-one. It was not the
less effectual because it had lasted but a few
hours, and had been accomplished without
the sacrifice of a single life. The Imperial
inheritance, which it had placed in the hands
of Elizabeth, was not snatched from them
again. The daughter of the great Czar lived
and died Empress of Russia.

And what became of the two men who
had won the throne for her? The story of
the after-conduct of the Marquis and Lestoc
must answer that question. The events of
the revolution itself are hardly more strange
than the events in the lives of the French
ambassador and the German surgeon, when
the brief struggle was over and the change
in the dynasty was accomplished.

To begin with the Marquis. He had laid
the Princess Elizabeth under serious
obligations to his courage and fidelity; and his
services were repaid by such a reward as, in his
vainest moments, he could never have dared
to hope for. He had not only excited
Elizabeth's gratitude, as a faithful adherent, but
he had touched her heart as a man; and, as
soon as she was settled quietly on the throne,
she proved her admiration of his merits,
his services, and himself by offering to marry
him.

This proposal, which conferred on the
Marquis the highest distinction in Russia,
fairly turned his brain. The imperturbable
man who had preserved his coolness in a
situation of the deadliest danger, lost all
control over himself the moment he rose to the
climax of prosperity. Having obtained leave
of absence from his Imperial mistress, he
returned to France to ask leave from his own
sovereign to marry the empress. This
permission was readily granted. After receiving
it, any man of ordinary discretion would have
kept the fact of the Empress's partiality for
him as strictly secret as possible, until it could
be openly avowed on the marriage-day. Far
from this, the Marquis's vanity led him to
proclaim the brilliant destiny in store for him
all over Paris. He commissioned the king's
genealogist to construct a pedigree which
should be made to show that he was not
unworthy to contract a royal alliance. When
the pedigree was completed he had the incredible
folly to exhibit it publicly, along with
the keepsakes which the Empress had given to
him and the rich presents which he intended
to bestow as marks of his favour on the lords
and ladies of the Russian court. Nor did his
imprudence end even here. When he
returned to St. Petersburg, he took back with
him, among the other persons comprising his
train, a woman of loose character, dressed in
the disguise of a page. The persons about
the Russian court, whose prejudices he had
never attempted to conciliate—whose envy
at his success waited only for the slightest
opportunity to effect his ruin—suspected the
sex of the pretended page, and took good
care that the report of their suspicions
should penetrate gradually to the foot of the
throne. It seems barely credible, but it is,
nevertheless, unquestionably the fact, that
the infatuated Marquis absolutely allowed
the Empress an opportunity of seeing his
page. Elizabeth's eye, sharpened by jealousy,
penetrated instantly to the truth. Any less
disgraceful insult she would probably have
forgiven, but such an outrage as this no
woman—especially no woman in her position
—could pardon. With one momentary
glance of anger and disdain, she dismissed
the Marquis from her presence, and never,
from that moment, saw him again.

The same evening his papers were seized,
all the presents that he had received from
the Empress were taken from him, and he
was ordered to leave the Russian dominions
for ever, within eight days' time. He was not
allowed to write, or take any other means of
attempting to justify himself; and, on his
way back to his native country, he was
followed to the frontier by certain officers of
the Russian army, and there stripped, with
every mark of ignominy, of all the orders of
nobility, which he had received from the
Imperial court. He returned to Paris a
disgraced man, lived there in solitude, obscurity,
and neglect for some years, and died in a
state of positive want, the unknown inhabitant
of one of the meanest dwellings in the
whole city.

The end of Lestoc is hardly less remarkable
than the end of the Marquis. In their
weak points as in their strong, the
characters of these two men seem to have been
singularly alike. Making due allowance for