The Winter Palace has sent the prince’s dark-green Mercedes limousine to collect the latest addition to the imperial collection. Mikhailov, the painter’s heir (the one who’s in the ranks of the secret police), doesn’t want the painting to travel unnoticed, and he’s pulled some strings; he knows “that kerosene contraption,” as the tsar calls it, is his majesty’s favorite, and people will notice. The portrait of Anna Karenina will travel by car.

Mikhailov has circulated the rumor about the automobile’s journey through St. Petersburg, altering it, or, if you prefer, taking some poetic license. “A treasure for the tsar will be transported by Prince Orlov’s automobile today….” To spread the news, he plants it in a variety of circles and feeds it to a journalist who always has time for him; he knows he’ll be intrigued—though Mikhailov suspects he won’t be interested in the portrait itself. He always provides some facts, practically writing the articles for him, but this one he’s embellished to ensure his interest.

So the journalist heads out in hot pursuit but is disappointed when he sees Prince Orlov is not at the wheel, and there’s no sign of the tsar either. He follows the vehicle anyway; since its cargo is precious to the tsar, perhaps there is something there for his piece.

• • •

The museum carpenters have made a bespoke wooden box to the exact measurements of the painting. It has guide rails inside where the edges of the frame will slide in, so the canvas won’t so much as graze the polished sides of the box, which are lined with thick felt.

The limousine stops in front of Sergei and Claudia’s home. The sky is blue. The employees of the Hermitage Museum and the palace who were awaiting its arrival quickly gather around. The neighbors’ servant comes out to see what’s going on, and a few passersby pause to look; the curtains of adjacent windows flutter, hiding more discreet observers. The journalist watches all this from a distance.

The box is unloaded. The chauffeur will wait by the front door until the box is brought back out, portrait ensconced inside. The journalist thinks, A gift for the Karenins from the tsar? There’s no story here, not for me, and departs in search of a better one; this time, his friend Mikhailov has failed him.

Giorgi jokes with one of the footmen from the Winter Palace. The footman’s sister is a knockout. Giorgi wants to get on his good side because he has his eye on the girl and thinks he can approach her through him. But the chauffeur (whose stomach problems have put him in a foul mood) rains on his parade:

“Giorgi, you knew Aleksandra, didn’t you?”

Although there’s not a single cloud in the sky, a shadow descends on them.