CHAPTER X.THE TRYST.
Mademoiselle Catherinehad fallen into a dangerous habit of sending me little billets, written at her dictation by Madame Golovin. Subtle enough in many ways, the Livonian had still a woman’s excitable temperament, and was without patience to watch the results. In these missives she and Madame Golovin veiled their meaning but thinly, and it was not difficult to identify the czar, Najine, and Prince Dolgoruky. Since Peter’s gift of a ring to mademoiselle, Catherine had been little noticed, and those who thought they saw in her a possible successor to Anna Mons began to doubt her influence, but I was not one of these. She actually loved the czar, and her nature was one that would be peculiarly adapted to his, and, knowing that she was aiming at the throne, I believed that nothing stood between her and her desire but Mademoiselle Zotof. Mademoiselle, however, had a tremendous advantage over her rival; Catherine was of humble origin, and her passions and ambitions were alike involved; on the other hand, Najine was nobleand entirely indifferent to her imperial lover; she would be betrayed into no indiscretion, and her birth, her beauty, and her friends would all demand the crown for her. It would be impolitic—almost impossible—for his imperial Majesty to put a slight upon the faction that supported her, and mademoiselle’s personal repugnance to the marriage only piqued the pride of a suitor who had never before been rejected. Catherine was quick to see all the disadvantages of her own position and the advantages of her rival’s, and was therefore urgent in her desire to forward M. de Lambert’s fortunes. Immediately after Najine’s message reached him, Mademoiselle Shavronsky sent me a note warning me that the czar’s personal attendants had been commanded to watch M. Guillaume. I read the missive twice over to be certain that I understood it, although not surprised that such instruction had been given. The czar’s manner to the young Frenchman indicated extreme displeasure, but I was astonished that the order had been issued so carelessly as to reach the ears of Mentchikof. Either Peter was willing that his favorite should see that he preferred mademoiselle, or else Mentchikof had so environed him with spies that nothing was concealed and he could manipulate every thread in the skein. It seemed almost useless to tell M. de Lambert; he was in a heedless mood, bent only on seeing mademoiselle and with all abrave man’s indifference to peril. In fact, I think the danger of the situation had its own peculiar charms for him, and he counted every risk for Najine’s sake a source of comfort and rejoicing. To Pierrot I could speak with more confidence, and instructed him to be doubly cautious, especially as we could place less trust in Touchet’s sagacity.
“Since M. de Lambert is sure to be watched,” I concluded, “you and Touchet must exercise a peculiar vigilance and endeavor to evade the spies.”
“Prince Dolgoruky’s equerry has been about here for two days, M. le Maréchal,” Pierrot replied calmly; “after M. de Lambert threw him down at the Kremlin he kept away for a while, but now he has returned to his old vocation, and there is also another fellow with him, who, I think, wears the czar’s livery under his cloak.”
“That is likely enough,” I said, thinking of Catherine’s warning; “watch both of them, but especially Tikhon; he has a personal grudge against M. de Lambert, and is therefore the more dangerous. It will go ill with us, Pierrot, if we cannot outwit these Russians; we did it in our young days, and if we fail now it will be because old age is creeping on.”
A smile illumined Pierrot’s stolid face. “Ah, M. le Vicomte,” he said, “we should never have returned to Moscow, for it is our fate here to beconstantly mixed up with love and desperate intrigue. I am getting old and stiff, monsieur, and cannot defeat these rascals so easily as I did twenty years ago.”
“Do not confess your age or your stiff joints, Pierrot,” I said, laughing; “it is too soon to be laid upon the shelf by the wild young gallants of to-day. Moreover, they need our counsel.”
“The more they need it, the less likely they are to take it, monsieur,” he said dryly. “Touchet is a featherhead, and M. de Lambert is over-rash, although a noble and gallant gentleman. He reminds me of you, M. le Maréchal, in your youth; the same brave, loyal, and devoted soldier. I think of the old days often, and of madame when she was Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky.”
“We are a couple of old fools, Pierrot,” I replied, “for I think of it too, and perhaps that is why I have so much forbearance for M. Guillaume.”
Pierrot shook his head and smiled. “Ah, monsieur,” he said, “you were a gallant young gentleman too; and Mademoiselle Zénaïde—how well I remember her as she looked when we brought you up the stairs unconscious, after you had saved her life and the others! Those were brave days, M. le Vicomte; you had the swiftest and the strongest sword-thrust that it has been my good fortune to see; you—”
“Hush, man!” I interrupted, “you make me an old fogy. My hand has not yet lost its cunning. You talk of me as an old fellow without a good right arm.”
“The saints forbid!” Pierrot said devoutly; “but you are now a marshal of France and you were then a young cavalier. It is the bâton that is for you now, rather than the sword and the dagger.”
“True enough, Pierrot,” I assented with a sigh; “I must remember my dignity and my years, and let the young have the adventures. Soon it will be my son who has his father’s old tricks with the rapier, and I shall be but a gouty old gentleman who was once marshal of France, but is now a fossil too stiff for service in the field and laid upon the shelf. Well, well, Pierrot, an old sword and an old servant, I hope, will be left me.”
There were tears in the honest fellow’s eyes. “My father died in the service of your house, M. le Vicomte,” he said proudly, “and I will die in yours.”
At a later hour my wife came to me with a troubled face.
“M. de Lambert is determined to keep his appointment,” she said, “and to go unattended; but it seems to me that Pierrot ought to follow him without his knowledge.”
“I thought of that,” I replied, “but it lookedunfair to follow him against his wishes,—a betrayal of his confidence.”
Zénaïde shrugged her shoulders. “I would not draw such distinctions,” she said, with a woman’s fine disdain of a man’s scruples; “his life is the first object. You know, Philippe, I do not believe that Najine ever sent that message; it is unnatural and unwomanly, but M. de Lambert will not listen to me. I believe I admire him the more for his rash devotion; still I would protect him, whether he wished it or not.”
I reflected, for her opinion and mine coincided, and I felt most reluctant to allow the young man to expose himself to unnecessary risk. So it was that I called Pierrot, who had withdrawn, and instructed him to follow M. de Lambert when he departed at dusk to keep the tryst.
An appointment with the czar took me to the Kremlin two hours before the important moment. At this time the Swedes were occupying the provinces of Kalisz and Posen, in Poland, and the Polish Primate, Cardinal Radziejowski, had summoned a Diet at Warsaw, ostensibly that the Republic of Poland might make a separate peace with Charles XII., but with the real purpose of deposing Augustus of Saxony. The confederation of Schrod, or Great Poland, was under the protection of the King of Sweden, who was proposing Prince Jacob Sobieski to succeed Augustus. It was an intrigue to control Poland anddethrone her king, looked upon with little favor by the powers. Peter was continually endeavoring to feel the pulse of France; to ascertain how far the king my master would interfere between him and Charles XII., and whether the partition of Poland or the downfall of Augustus would be regarded with indifference by the French. My moves were even more cautious than his; sent to watch the disposition of Russia toward the Grand Alliance, and to ascertain how far the czar would go in upholding Augustus in Saxony, I played the game of cross purposes day by day, though I often saw the hot-tempered czar fretted by my complaisance and by the apparent indifference of France. While I never admitted that I was an envoy of my government, Peter allowed me to see that he divined my mission; but through all the manœuvring he did not forget to probe me about M. de Lambert and mademoiselle. He was quite aware that she preferred her French lover, and it must have been a keen annoyance to his haughty nature. His personal feeling toward me was cordial; he was easy to approach, his large nature scorning the trivial etiquette of courts, and, in spite of his violent temper and mad outbursts, there were many qualities that were kingly and commanded my regard. That he regretted his occasional paroxysms of fury, I did not doubt. It was not even difficult to understand his treatment of the Czarina Eudoxia. Shebelonged to the old régime; an ignorant woman, narrow, bigoted, and jealous, clashing with the temperament of her husband at every point, unable to comprehend his intellect, hating his reforms, without sympathy for his ambitions; tried, no doubt, beyond endurance by the czar’s intrigue with Anna Mons, but, in any case, totally unfit to hold his esteem. Unhappily, it was said that the Czarevitch Alexis, then a lad of thirteen, was like his mother in disposition and in tastes; already the wiseacres at court looked forward to the day when there would be a breach between father and son. It was this probability and the delicate constitution of Alexis which made Peter’s possible marriage an event of keen interest to the opposing parties and of vital importance to Mentchikof, who was determined to keep his place beside the czar.
When I left the Kremlin and turned my steps toward my lodgings, my mind was still full of these matters. France and the Grand Alliance, Russia and Charles XII. filled my thoughts, and for the time I had forgotten M. de Lambert and his love affair. Although my path took me in the direction of the bridge, I walked toward it still too absorbed to remember the tryst. It was now quite dark, and a mist hung over the frozen river; the ground was white with snow and it was beginning to sleet. It seemed unusually still, so that I heard the scream of a raven disturbed inhis rest. Suddenly there was a cry and a pistol-shot. Remembering M. de Lambert, I dashed down the slope to the bridge. As I did so, I ran against a man who was rushing up the bank, and, obeying an instinct, I caught him in my arms, pinioning his; but the ground was slippery and he threw himself on me, pushing me sideways on the slope until I lost my footing and went down on one knee. Having me at a disadvantage, he wrenched himself free, and, dealing a blow that stretched me on the ice, dashed off in the darkness just as another man came up from the bridge, and, seeing me upon my back, fell on me with a cry of fury.
“You villain!” he exclaimed, “I have you now!”
It was Pierrot.
“Help me up, you knave!” I said, thrusting his hands from my throat; “you will choke me here in the snow.”
He uttered an ejaculation and stood transfixed with amazement.
“I beg your pardon a thousand times, M. le Maréchal,” he said, after a moment, recovering sufficiently to help me to my feet; “but where is the other?”
“Gone while you were belaboring me,” I replied dryly. “What has happened?”
“M. de Lambert is wounded,” he said, “I know not how badly. It was, as you supposed, a trap; mademoiselle was not here.”
I did not wait to hear more, being anxious for my friend. “Where is he?” I exclaimed.
Pierrot turned, and conducted me across the bridge to the farther side. There in the snow were two dark figures.
“Who is with him?” I asked quickly.
“I know not,” my equerry replied; “but it is the stranger who saved his life.”
As we approached, I saw that M. de Lambert was sitting up, supported by the other.
“How is it with you, Guillaume?” I inquired, bending over him.
“I have a cut,” he said quietly, “but it is not serious; with your help, I will go back to our quarters.”
I was straining my eyes in the dark to see the face of his companion; when he spoke, I recognized his voice.
“If he will lean on my arm, he can rise,” he said.
It was the Swedish spy. With his help, M. de Lambert rose and stood leaning his hand on the other’s shoulder. After a moment he recovered sufficiently to take my arm and walk slowly in the direction of our lodgings. The Swede followed us a few steps; then, seeing that the wounded man could walk alone, turned to leave us, but I checked him.
“Not so fast, friend,” I said; “my man tells me that you saved M. de Lambert’s life. You cannot escape our gratitude.”
M. de Lambert held out his hand. “You must return with us,” he said.
“Nay, your Excellencies,” the Swede replied with evident embarrassment, “I should be an unwelcome visitor.”
“Not so,” I responded quietly, “and you alone can fully explain this matter.”
After some hesitation he yielded, and we moved on slowly on account of M. de Lambert, while Pierrot went for a surgeon. We had not a great distance to walk; and when we reached our quarters, Touchet opened the door and we helped the wounded man to his room. My wife, hearing us enter, came to our aid, and we had M. de Lambert comfortably lying on his couch when the surgeon arrived,—a German whom I knew, for I would not trust him in Russian hands. An examination showed a stab in the side, which had caused some loss of blood, but had not touched any vital spot. Reassured as to his safety, I was at leisure to return to the outer room, where I found Pierrot and the Swede talking together. Sitting down by the table, I signed to them to advance.
“Now,” I said, “tell me, if you can, exactly what occurred at the bridge.”
Pierrot pointed to the Swede. “He can tell you more than I,” he said; “obeying your instructions, I followed M. de Lambert at a distance and saw him go down to the bridge. A momentlater, I heard the noise of a struggle, and running forward reached the bridge as another man sprang upon it, and, turning aside the assassin’s pistol, saved M. de Lambert’s life. I had almost caught the villain, but he wrenched himself away from me and fled up the bank. You know the rest, monsieur.”
“And now your story, Lenk,” I said, turning to the spy.
“I was coming along by the river, your Excellency,” he replied quietly, “and saw a man, muffled in his cloak, loitering by the bridge in a manner that arrested my attention. Then seeing who it was, I suspected a greater plot than even this.”
“Who was it?” I asked sharply.
The Swede looked at me an instant before he answered. “It was Yury Apraxin,” he said.
“Ah!” I exclaimed softly, knowing at once that he had supposed that the young man was waiting to avenge the czar’s insult, aware of Peter’s careless habit of going unattended.
“So suspicious were his movements,” the spy continued, “that I too loitered about in the shelter of the wall and watched. After a long while M. de Lambert appeared, and walked rapidly towards the bridge. Then I observed that Apraxin had let his mantle fall until he looked almost a woman in the dusk, and it flashed upon me that it was a trick. I ran to the bridge, reachingit just as he stabbed your friend. I caught the fellow’s arm, and he drew his pistol with his left hand. I struck his wrist, and the weapon went off. Pierrot came, and the assassin escaped in the struggle and confusion. That is all, your Excellency.”
“It is to your swift action, then, that we owe M. de Lambert’s life,” I said, looking at him attentively. “What motive prompted you to risk your own for his?”
The Swede’s fair-skinned face flushed, and he returned my look with a flash of feeling in his light eyes.
“I owed him a life,” he replied stolidly, “and I do not forget my debts.”
Remembering M. de Lambert’s relief and mine to be rid of him on that night, I smiled.
“You are an honest fellow; accept our thanks,” I said, drawing out my purse.
He started back with an expression of resentment.
“Not that, your Excellency,” he said proudly; “my life was worth more to me than French gold. I did but discharge my just debts. Keep your money for those who seek it; I am a free-born Swede and have saved a life. That requires no thanks.”
I looked at him with growing interest. This was no common spy, or if the lower classes were of such noble stuff, how worthy must be the higherorders! King Charles was fortunate. I rose and held out my hand.
“You must accept, at least, my thanks,” I said.
As I spoke, I saw my wife coming forward. She had entered the room unobserved, and overheard the conversation. Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes kindled with a look they had when she was deeply stirred. She came across to the Swede, and drew a ring from her finger.
“Accept this, my friend,” she said in her gracious way, “for your sweetheart, as a gift of recognition for a gallant service to a Frenchman.”
The Swede, looking at her fine and animated face, took the ring and made her a profound obeisance.
“Madame,” he said in a low voice, “I esteem it an honor to accept your gift. In a manner I have regained my reputation. His Excellency your husband and his friend thought me a cowardly spy because I dreaded to die a shameful death; but I do not fear to die—as a brave man should.”
Zénaïde gave me a glance in which were mingled triumph and reproach.
“You have not only won our respect,” she replied, “but you have earned our gratitude, for we both love M. de Lambert. We do not forget such a service.”
“Madame, you are good,” the Swede saidquietly; “and I will wear your ring always, to remind me of the nobler purposes of life.”
Kneeling down, he kissed the hem of her robe, and then, rising, left the house without another word.
“And you thought him a coward!” exclaimed Zénaïde, looking at me with a smile.
“He is not only a brave man, but a courtier, it seems, Madame de Brousson,” I replied dryly.
She laughed, looking down at her robe and flushing like a girl.