CHAPTER XIV.A FAIR REBEL.
Thatevening I went to the Kremlin for the sole purpose of gathering information, and met with signal failure. The czar was closeted with Prince Dolgoruky and Sheremetief, and the palace was almost deserted. The few courtiers lingering in the ante-rooms stared at me curiously, as if they knew of some matter with which my name was connected, and I attributed their interest to Catherine Shavronsky’s unfortunate letter. There are no secrets at a court; malice and curiosity pry out every corner about a throne, and I had no doubt that every particular of her foolish correspondence was known. I made an effort to see Prince Dolgoruky, but to no purpose, and finally quitted the palace much disturbed. I could not sift the situation, and was uneasy for M. Guillaume, who had gone out again, in the hope of communicating with mademoiselle, although I had endeavored to restrain his impetuosity, fearing that some evil would result from it; but it was impossible to control him. He departed upon his errand, burning with ardor to achieve some enterprise, to rescue Najine, to thwart the czar. The absoluterecklessness of his courage made me smile. He dashed at obstacles in his path, as if he were dealing with a man of straw, instead of with one of the most resolute and autocratic men in the world. It looked desperate to me, for I knew that Mentchikof was under a cloud, and Catherine in a position that might terminate in exile, and the presence of Dolgoruky in the imperial closet boded ill for any hopes of M. de Lambert’s success.
It was early when I reached my quarters, and I was not surprised to find that the anxious lover had not returned even to supper. Zénaïde was disturbed; she knew even more than I about the perils of Najine’s position, and felt a keen sympathy for the two lovers. It was cold, and a great fire of logs blazed on the hearth, and I drew my chair before it with a sigh of relief. After all, the pleasure of sitting by a bright blaze on such a night diminished the trouble of court intrigue, but Madame de Brousson’s mind was dwelling on M. de Lambert.
“I hope he will do nothing rash,” she said thoughtfully; “he is determined to win, and sometimes that headlong impetuosity wrecks a cause.”
“And sometimes it conquers,” I replied sententiously; “he can scarcely see mademoiselle, even if he sees Zotof,” I added.
“Did he intend to see Zotof?” Zénaïde asked with surprise.
“He went mainly for that purpose,” I replied,“although what he expected to gain by the interview I cannot imagine. The ‘Prince Pope’ is not likely to accept for his ward the hand of a poor Frenchman, instead of the czar, even if her coronation is not an immediate prospect. Peter would not insult her family by treating her with neglect; moreover, I believe that he really loves Najine.”
Madame de Brousson shrugged her shoulders scornfully, her lip curling.
“I believe that some thought that King Louis loved Madame de Montespan,” she said.
“The case is different, Zénaïde,” I returned quietly. “Madame de Montespan could never have been more than the king’s mistress, Madame de Maintenon can never be Queen of France, but it is different with the Romanoff. He can make mademoiselle czarina, if he chooses, and he undoubtedly will marry again. It is desirable that there should be other heirs. Monseigneur with all his dulness is far more acceptable to King Louis than is Alexis to his father. Peter might make Catherine share the fate of Anna Mons, but Najine has too powerful a party behind her, and he loves her. I have seen him strongly moved, and I know that the man is genuine.”
“You have an admiration for him,” my wife remarked dryly; “he always fascinated your interest. I confess that I remember that the Czarevna Sophia saved us both, and I cannot love the czar’s treatment of her.”
“Yet there is no doubt,” I said calmly, “that she deserved it.”
“Alas, M. le Vicomte,” she replied, smiling, “if you fall back on our merits, who can expect a better fate?”
“Hark! what is that?” I exclaimed, listening.
We both heard an unusual disturbance at the lower entrance, and the sound of voices. In another moment the door of the room was opened without ceremony by Pierrot, who stood aside to admit two closely veiled women. My wife rose from her chair with an exclamation of surprise, while I sat looking at them bewildered. It was not until they dropped their mantles that we recognized them. It was mademoiselle and her woman, Neonila. Najine threw back her hood, and her usually pale face was flushed with excitement. Behind them stood Pierrot, for the first time in his life too astonished to remember his duty and withdraw. Madame de Brousson, recovering her wits first, went up to Najine, and taking both her hands drew her to the chair by the fire.
“This is indeed a pleasure, mademoiselle,” she said easily, “and it is the first time I have seen you since your illness.”
The young girl clung to Zénaïde’s hand with the first signs of weakness that I had seen about her.
“Madame de Brousson and you, M. le Vicomte,” she said in a low voice, “I know you think me dementedto come here, and at this hour, but I have need of advice, of help. I am sore beset, and yet I fear my visit here will be only an embarrassment to you both. I am unfortunate.”
“And we are fortunate, mademoiselle,” I replied gallantly, “to have so fair a visitor. In all things you may command me.”
She gave me a keen glance, as if she had already learned to sift men’s souls, and was slow to give her confidence, but I saw that my wife had won her heart. It was to Zénaïde that she mainly addressed herself, as if she felt sure, at least, of a woman’s sympathy.
“I am not without natural affection for my uncle, madame,” she said quietly, as if collecting her thoughts. “I would gladly submit to his guidance, but his mind is full of dreams of greatness, and he forgets my personal happiness, or believes that it can be assured by the fulfilment of his wishes.”
She paused as if choosing her words, and I looked around to see that Pierrot had withdrawn and her woman was standing by the door watching us, as if she doubted the wisdom of her mistress’s action.
“He has determined to marry me,” mademoiselle continued, looking still at my wife; “and I will not yield, even if it is—” She paused and, glancing at me, framed the words with her lips, “the czar.”
Madame de Brousson was holding her hand and patting it gently, while I sat and looked at her beautiful young face and the spirited pose of her head. To advise her seemed impossible. She read my thoughts, and glanced from my face to my wife’s.
“I will not marry him!” she cried passionately. “I have no desire to share the fate of Eudoxia.”
“Nonsense, mademoiselle,” I exclaimed, smiling; “you cannot compare yourself with the unfortunate czarina.”
“And why not, monsieur?” she asked with spirit. “I, too, would be at the caprice of a tyrant. How soon might he weary of me? I am young now, but in a few years a change might come,—illness, sorrow, loss of youth,—and then I too should be sent in a postcart to the convent.”
She spoke with superb contempt, and I listened, thinking that if Peter could hear her disdainful young voice it would be a salutary lesson for the autocrat. My wife was smiling; the thought of this proud young beauty sharing Eudoxia’s disgrace was absurd, and yet she was terribly in earnest as she sat looking at us, her dark blue eyes kindled with passionate anger.
“You are unlike other women, mademoiselle,” I said; “the splendors of a throne have no attractions for you.”
“I do not say that, monsieur,” she replied with a sudden smile; “but when I must share it—itsattractions depend upon the partner of my honors. I cannot purchase a crown at the price of my self-respect.”
“And yet,” I remarked quietly, “the czar is a ruler, a brave man, a reformer, and with a certain simplicity of nature that makes him lovable.”
“I did not think to find his advocate here, M. le Maréchal,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “I came rather to find a way to escape, since the matter is pressing.”
“It is hard for us to advise you, my dear,” Zénaïde replied gently; “we feel as if we might injure rather than aid you. It is a grave step.”
“I know it,” she exclaimed, her lips quivering, “and I would not bring trouble to you, but I saw no way. They have kept me as close as a prisoner, and are deaf to my entreaties; they believe that their wisdom is best.”
“There are two ways, mademoiselle,” I said slowly,—“one, to go to a convent for temporary protection, but that would scarcely avail you; the other—” I paused, and looked at Zénaïde. She, reading my thought, laid her finger on her lip. She felt that M. de Lambert must speak for himself.
“And the other?” repeated mademoiselle, looking at me inquiringly.
I smiled. “The other would be to go to France, mademoiselle.”
Her face flushed crimson, and she gave me ahaughty glance, as if she thought that I intended to reproach her for coming to us.
“That is possible, mademoiselle,” I hastened to explain; “we would protect you, and if you could cross the border in disguise, all would be well.”
She bit her lip, and sat looking at the fire. I knew that she marvelled at M. de Lambert’s absence, but it would have been unfortunate to mention his name while she was so sensitively conscious of her precipitation in coming to us. In the pause I heard his voice in the lower hall and rose to call him, but mademoiselle detained me.
“No, no!” she cried, blushing deeply, “I did not come to seek M. de Lambert—nor would I have him think it, for the world. I came to you and to Madame de Brousson for advice. I—I have put myself in an unfortunate position.”
I took her hand, and, looking at her agitated face, understood how she felt. “Mademoiselle,” I said gently, “are you not unkind to M. de Lambert? He has but just returned from an effort to see you; he has been ill—wounded in your quarrel—”
“Ill—wounded?” she cried in amazement, “I knew nothing of it! They have kept me like a nun.”
While I was telling her of her lover’s misadventure, there was a tap on the door, and Zénaïdeopened it for M. de Lambert. At the sight of Najine, he uttered an exclamation, and in a moment had both her hands in his and was trying to express his amazement and delight, while her face was covered with blushes, and her long lashes hid the brightness of her eyes. I glanced at my wife, and we smiled; there was even a smile on the face of the Russian woman who stood so patiently by the door. After all, they were like two children, and it was a shame to think of separating them. He led her back to her seat by the fire, sitting down himself on a low stool at her feet, while I told him briefly mademoiselle’s errand, and pointed out the gravity and difficulty of the situation, although I knew that his impatience would scoff at obstacles. I was rather astonished that he listened with attention, and was willing to give the matter deep thought before proposing a way out of it. I knew well enough the expedient that he would suggest, for I saw it in his kindling eye, and imagined that mademoiselle divined it too, for her embarrassment increased. He let me finish my argument before he spoke at all.
“There is but one way,” he said at last. “Her guardians will have their own wishes obeyed as long as she remains here; but—” He stopped and looked up into mademoiselle’s face. “It is hasty,” he went on; “but if she will marry me now—I can and will carry her back to France.”
“Oh, I could not now!” mademoiselle criedwith a crimson face. “It would be as if I had sought it!”
He caught her hand, and pressed it to his lips. “Najine,” he said softly, “is that truthful? I could not break into your uncle’s house, but I should have found a way to bring you out of it at last. Perhaps, though,” he added, with a rare touch of diplomacy, “I am too poor a man to be compared to a czar.”
“For shame, M. de Lambert!” Najine cried angrily; “why taunt me with that? Have I deserved it?”
“Forgive me,” he replied, smiling; “you drove me to it. Najine, you will wed me?” he went on with emotion. “There is no other way to rescue you now. If you hesitate, they will not, and they will marry you to the czar. You must choose between us.”
She looked down at him with a charming smile. “I have chosen, monsieur,” she said softly; “but I will not have you risk your life for me. We could not escape to-night or to-morrow, and I must not go back to the house. I cannot again evade my aunt’s vigilance; she is more bent upon this unhappy matter than my uncle. Another aunt, my mother’s sister, whose husband is with the army in Livonia, is at Troïtsa. She has gone there as a pilgrim to pray for her family; she is very fond of me, and will be full of sympathy for my troubles. I have almost determined to go toher for the present, especially as I believe they would scarcely think of seeking me there, and if they do, she will help me.”
I saw the wisdom of her decision as, I think, did M. de Lambert, although he protested.
“Can you not stay with us to-night?” suggested Zénaïde; “why need any one know that you are here?”
“Impossible!” she exclaimed at once. “My aunt will search Moscow for me; she is very angry with me. I must go from the city.”
“Your aunt is certainly at Troïtsa, mademoiselle?” I asked.
“She has been there for some days, monsieur,” she replied.
I looked thoughtfully at M. de Lambert. “I believe that would be her wisest course,” I said gravely; “it would be a temporary security and a cause of desirable delay, which would enable us to find some way out of this labyrinth.”
He was reluctant to assent to this arrangement, for he was manifestly determined to carry Najine off in the teeth of all opposition. While we sat looking at one another, each thinking of a different scheme, there was a sudden noise below and the sound of loud talking. Mademoiselle sprang up in quick alarm.
“They have come to seek me!” she exclaimed in excitement; “is there not some other way by which I can escape? They must not find me here.”
“No harm shall come to you, Najine,” M. de Lambert exclaimed.
I had been listening, and heard heavy steps upon the stair. An instinct warned me that there was danger.
“Take her away,” I said quickly to Zénaïde; and she, reading my face, caught mademoiselle’s hand, and drew her through the door that opened into the next apartment. Neonila followed, but had not time to close the door when the other, by the stairs, was thrown open and a stranger entered unannounced. I looked about, and saw, with relief, the door close on the Russian woman; then I rose, and confronted my visitor. He was a large man, and muffled in a long scarlet cloak, edged with sables, the collar turned up about his face and his plumed hat set low over his eyes. I raised the taper, and held it to throw the light upon his figure, but he neither moved nor spoke.
“Your pleasure, monsieur?” I said sharply; “you intrude strangely upon my privacy. It is not usual for a visitor to enter a house with such noise, and then break in upon his host unannounced and bonneted.”
Without a word, he dropped his cloak and stood regarding me. It was the czar!