"And now permit me to go, your highness," said Ostermann. "Will you
have the kindness, prince, to command your lackeys to bear me to my
sedan-chair? It is impossible for me to walk a step. Yes, yes, while you
are this night contending for a throne, I shall, perhaps, be struggling
with death."
And with a groan, sinking back into the arms of the lackeys whom the
prince had called, Ostermann suffered himself to be carried down to his
chair, which awaited him at the door. He groaned and cried out as they
placed him in it, but as soon as its doors were closed and his serfs
were trotting with him toward his own palace, the suffering expression
vanished from Ostermann's face, and a sly smile of satisfaction played
upon his lips.
"I think I have well employed my time," he muttered to himself. "The
good Munnich will never become generalissimo, and poor old failing
Ostermann may now, unsuspected, go quietly to bed and comfortably await
the coming events. Such an illness, at the right time, is an insurance
against all accidents and miscarriages. I learned that after the death
of Peter II. Who knows what would then have become of me had I not been
careful to remain sick in bed until Anna had mounted the throne? I will,
therefore, again be sick, and in the morning we shall see! Should
this conjuration succeed, very well; then, perhaps, old Ostermann will
gradually recover sufficient health to take yet a few of the burdens
of state upon his own shoulders, and thus relieve the good Munnich of a
part of his cares!"