The great man looked at his watch. “Fortunately, not a very busy day. I am glad we have had plenty of time to talk. But I will give you more time on Friday.”
Nello perceived that he was dismissed. This manhad many irons in the fire; he could not stay too long in warming one. Still, there was something he must say before he left; something very important.
“Pardon me, Baron, if I intrude upon a few more seconds of your valuable time. You know nothing of my domestic circumstances. I have neither wife nor sweetheart, but I have a young sister, to whom I am very tenderly attached. I may take her with me on this journey?”
Over Salmoros’s usually kind face there crept a slight frown. He had not thought of this, and yet a young man was bound to have an entanglement of some sort. Fortunate that it was not a wife, still more fortunate that it was not a sweetheart. He knew the artistic temperaments well. One smile of a woman would outweigh much gold.
Then the frown died away and the benevolent smile came back. He must reason with this young man calmly.
“I take it you are very devoted to each other?”
Nello answered fervently. “We think with one brain, we feel with one heart, sir. It will cut her to the quick for me to leave her behind.”
The Baron spoke musingly. Years ago he had had his love affairs like other men; but women had never entered into his scheme of things as they had in the case of his old friend Jean. They were meant for man’s leisure, for his playtime; they could not be woven into the serious business of life.
“That is all very well, Corsini, but hearts are not so easily broken by a little absence. One day you will leave her for a wife, one day she will leave youfor a husband. I trust she will be sensible. You cannot go on this expedition hampered by a woman, whatever her relationship. You will come back to her soon.”
“How soon do you think, sir?” questioned Nello eagerly.
“Say, in two or three months.” The Baron’s tone was a little hesitating. He knew in his own mind that there was a darker side to the picture, that there might be an altogether different ending to the journey. But he was not going to frighten the young man with that, or he might cry off at the last minute.
Nello persisted; his love for his self-sacrificing little sister was very real, very deep.
“She is young, in many things younger than her years, and utterly ignorant of the world. I cannot leave her alone, Baron, in the charge of a careless landlady. I would rather give up the whole thing and risk my chances here in London.”
The Baron thought to himself that here was a more difficult person to deal with than he expected. But it was not very long before his fertile brain solved the difficulty.
“I understand. I am the last man in the world to suggest such an inhuman thing. I can make the way easy for you. Two dear friends of mine, old maids I suppose we must call them, have a big house in Kensington. They are very lonely, without any young relatives. At a word from me they would be delighted to take charge of her during your brief absence. Keep what money you have saved for yourself. I will charge myself with her maintenance,and she shall have plenty of pocket-money, I can assure you.”
Nello grasped the old man’s hand warmly. “You have relieved me of the last ounce of hesitation. A thousand, nay, ten thousand thanks.”
The Baron returned the pressure; he was delighted he had got his own way. “That is understood. On Friday I will have that cut-and-dried also. Now keep up your little sister’s spirits—what is her name? Eh, Anita. Tell her that you are going to make fame and fortune, that you will soon be back, and that she will be very happy with these two dear old ladies, who will cosset her like a baby.”
When he left the Baron he could not quite decide what his feelings were. In a sense he was jubilant at the brilliant prospects before him, but his heart was heavy for Anita. They had lived together all their lives; they had been through terrible and heart-breaking times.
To-night he was playing at Leicester House, the abode of a musical duchess. He wanted to play his best; he would not dare to tell the unsuspecting Anita of his speedy departure. Her tears, her grief, would unman him.
The first persons he met in the specious saloons overlooking the Green Park were the Princess Zouroff and her daughter.
The girl held out her hand. “Ah, Signor, I am so pleased to see you. You must play that lovely little romance to-night. Shall I tell you the reason?”
“I require no reason, Princess. It is enough forme that you request me to play it. It shall be played.” He blushed a little as he spoke. He was not accustomed to indulge inpersiflagewith great ladies.
A little colour came into her face also. Perhaps the young musician’s tone had been more fervent than he intended.
“But I will tell you the reason, nevertheless. We have been recalled to St. Petersburg; we leave London next week. That is the reason my brother Boris is not here; he is winding up affairs for his successor.”
A deeper flush spread over Nello’s face. “But that is very strange. I am going there myself. I start next Monday.”
The young Princess looked pleased. She turned to her mother. “Signor Corsini must call upon us, mother.” She looked at him with a little smile. “To-night will not then be the last time I shall hear that lovely romance.”
The elder woman seconded the invitation warmly. “You shall come and play for us, Signor. I think you will find the Slav temperament a little more fervent than the Anglo-Saxon one.”
Nello thought this a good time for explanations. Degraux would spread the news about in his world, the Zouroffs would spread it about in theirs.
“You know, of course, the Baron Salmoros?”
The Princess replied that they had a slight acquaintance with that distinguished financier.
“Lady Glendover introduced me to him. He is a very considerableamateur, he has been kind enoughto take a very warm interest in me. He is going to push my fortunes in Russia.”
“His name is one to conjure with in Russia,” said the grey-haired Princess. “He stands very high in the favour of his Imperial Majesty.”
Princess Nada nodded him farewell. “It is not good-bye, then, onlyau revoir. I suppose artists and ambassadors are the greatest cosmopolitans on earth. We shall meet next in St. Petersburg.”
And, on the Monday of the following week, Corsini set out on his expedition.
He had seen Degraux, who had congratulated him heartily. “Salmoros pulls so many strings; he can do more for you in a week than I could do for you in twelve months,” he had told him. “He has run several theatres for people he believed in. He will do anything in the world for you when he once takes a fancy.”
And little Anita had been very brave; she wept a good deal when she was alone, but in her brother’s presence she kept her tears back. Was she to oppose the feelings of her loving and undisciplined heart to the fiat of this new benefactor who had come so unexpectedly into their lives?
So she went meekly to the big house in Kensington, tenanted by the two dear old maids who were prepared to mother her, as much for her own sweet ways as from their ardent admiration for the compelling Salmoros, who had been a bosom friend of their father.
“Two or three months and I shall be back again!”sighed Corsini as he settled himself in the train. Little could he guess what the future would unfold as he made this confident prediction.
Weary and worn with his long journey, Nello dismounted at the little wayside station about thirty miles from St. Petersburg. All passengers were peremptorily ordered to alight. Presently he learned that there had been a slight railway accident in front, and that he might have to wait two or three hours before he could get on to the capital.
He walked in the direction of the little village. There was evidently a great stir taking place in this ordinarily quiet neighbourhood. Mounted soldiers were drawn up before the old posting-inn.
Nello happened to get hold of a man who could speak a little French, in a halting, but intelligent way.
“Quite a commotion for such a tranquil spot. What is it that is on thetapis?” inquired Corsini.
The man explained in his slow French. “Something out of the usual, Monsieur. Have you ever heard of a terrible fellow, one Ivan, nicknamed ‘The Cuckoo’?”
No, Nello had never heard of him. “Is he a very formidable personage this ‘Ivan the Cuckoo,’ then?”
The man explained elaborately that Ivan was a much-feared outlaw, that he was in the vicinity with a gang of desperadoes and assassins. He was aconvict who had escaped from the mines of Siberia, and had gathered round him a band of miscreants as desperate as himself, and as careless of consequences. They had lived by preying on the peasants and stray travellers.
“The police are endeavouring to block the roads, so that, in desperation, he and his associates may be driven into the village and captured,” concluded the man who had volunteered the explanation in his halting French.
Corsini thanked him, and strolled along down the straggling village street. What was he to do till the railway service was restored? The village inn was open, where, if he pleased, he could go and saturate himself with vodka or some other potent spirit; but the young man had the abstemiousness of the Latin races. He did not want to amuse himself in this fashion.
He would take a little stroll. Occupied with his own thoughts of the life and reception awaiting him in St. Petersburg, with those powerful introductions from the influential Salmoros, he did not think of the risk he was running in wandering away from the protected precincts of the quiet village, guarded as it was by those stout mounted soldiers. Ivan and his band were lurking about somewhere, ready to pounce on the unwary traveller.
After a few minutes’ slow walk, he came to a roadside ikon. Mechanically he stopped and crossed himself. He was a man of deeply religious feeling, and he fancied he had been blessed with a good omen on his entrance into this strange country. A fewprayers to the Blessed Virgin and he would be sheltered from all harm.
Hardly had his lips ceased moving in reverent supplication, when he was aware of a strange presence. A tall, bearded man emerged from the semi-gloom and held out his hands with an imploring gesture.
“Save me for the sake of her whom we both reverence,” he cried. He spoke, like the last man who had addressed Nello, in lame and halting French. He had evidently appreciated the fact that Corsini was not a fellow-countryman.
Corsini started back and his hand stole to his hip pocket, from which he produced a very serviceable revolver, which he levelled straight at the intruder.
“Who and what are you?” he cried loudly, with a resolution he was far from feeling. This rough, unkempt man looked as if he was possessed of giant strength. If it had come to a hand-to-hand tussle, he could have broken the slim young Italian in two. But Nello would not let it come to that. He kept his pistol well levelled at the stranger’s head. The least movement and he would fire.
“Save me for her sake, for the sake of the Virgin,” pleaded the man in despairing accents. “You are not an outlaw like me; you have not been through what I have. I trust you, for a man who says his prayers with the devotion you do—I watched you behind the trees—would never betray his hunted fellow-creatures.”
And then a light came suddenly to Corsini, standing there, armed with that eloquent pistol.
“You speak of yourself as an outlaw. I have just come from the little village yonder, which is in a state of commotion with mounted soldiers. They are looking for an outlaw, a convict escaped from the mines of Siberia. I am right in saying that you are ‘Ivan the Cuckoo.’ Where is your band of assassins and robbers who prey upon the travellers and peasants?”
The miserable man fell at his feet. Nello, in the dim light, saw that his face had gone livid.
“You have guessed, Monsieur. It is true. I am Ivan the outlaw. You cannot appreciate the misery that drove me to this.”
In a dim sort of way Nello understood. This man was an outlaw. Was it not just a chance that he was not one himself? Many a night, as he had played in the cold streets for a few miserable pence, he had passed the flaring restaurants, the well-lighted shops, their windows full of precious things to be coveted by the poor and hungry. He could not deny that many a time he had railed at the world’s injustice, that criminal thoughts had surged through his half-maddened brain.
He thought of the saying of the old Quaker, whenever he heard of a criminal on the road to death. “There, but for the grace of God, goes myself.”
Yes, but for the sudden intervention in the shape of good old Papa Péron, he might have drifted into evil courses like the wretched creature grovelling at his feet. It was not for him to judge.
He looked at him steadily, still keeping the pistol levelled at the vital part, and repeated his question.
“What has become of your band of robbers and assassins?” he asked sternly.
“Dispersed, Monsieur—dispersed, I give you my word. Yesterday we learned that the soldiers and police were on our track, were preparing to draw a cordon round us. It was a case ofsauve qui peut, devil take the hindmost. We agreed to separate. There were not more than half a dozen of us, but our numbers have been exaggerated. We all scattered in different directions. Somehow, I stumbled up here, and you tell me the little village is astir.”
“What is it you want of me?”
“Just a little money, Monsieur; just a little money to help me on my way to St. Petersburg, where I shall find friends.”
Nello looked at him suspiciously. “But why do you want money? It was only yesterday that you heard the police were closing round you. You have been robbing as you go. When you agreed to separate, no doubt you divided the ready money.”
“That is true, Monsieur; you are very clever,” replied the grovelling man in a fawning voice. “You will hardly believe me when I tell you, but I swear it is true. Last night I slept in a little inn a few miles from here. I had drunk heavily, I admit; I slept very soundly. When I awoke in the morning every coin I possessed had been stolen from my pockets. I, an old hand, blush to tell you, Monsieur; but I, who have robbed so many, was robbed myself.”
“Do you suspect anybody?” was Nello’s next question.
The man uttered a fierce imprecation. “Yes, Ido; I suspect one of my so-called pals. As captain I took the biggest share when we agreed to separate. I caught his eye fixed upon me with a very sinister look. My theory is that he followed me at a safe distance and saw where I was lodged. He was well aware of my habits; he knew I should be pretty fast asleep. He climbed up through the window, Monsieur, and took every copper. I was too drunk to hear him. If I had been in my sober senses, I would have strangled him, and added one more crime to the many committed by Ivan the outlaw.” He ended with a defiant grin, that showed a row of strong white wolfish teeth.
Nello mused for a little space. The man might be speaking truth; he was half disposed to think so. On the other hand, he might be telling him a tissue of lies.
“Why are you not armed?” he asked suddenly.
“I have a pistol, Monsieur, but it is empty. I could find no place in which to buy cartridges. See for yourself.”
He fumbled in his pocket and threw down the weapon on the ground. Nello picked it up cautiously; it was, as its owner had truly declared, harmless.
A grim smile crossed the young man’s countenance, but he did not for a second relax his vigilance. This ruffian of the highway was, no doubt, as cunning as he was plausible.
“If your pistol had been loaded, I expect you would have extorted money from me instead of begging it.”
Ivan the outlaw shook his big head. “Under ordinary circumstances, yes, Monsieur. Adversity has taught me not to stand upon ceremony. But when I saw your lips moving in prayer before the ikon, I would not have harmed a hair of your head. You would have been sacred.”
Truly a strange being, imbued with the ever-present superstition of the Russian peasant, thought Nello to himself.
“And you want money from me. Of course you know what my duty is, as a peaceable man who has no sympathy with robbers and assassins?”
“Certainly, Monsieur. If you don’t choose to shoot me in a vital spot and so insure my death, you ought to maim me to prevent me from moving, leave me here and go and fetch the police from the village to take me into custody.” The man had spoken so far in a low, imperturbable voice; then at the end he lashed himself into sudden fury and shrieked out.
“It’s a toss of a copper to me what you do. But if you won’t give me any money, kill me outright. I have not made such a success of life that I am anxious to enjoy much more of it. Kill me, Monsieur, and finish it once for all. The police will thank you for having got rid of ‘Ivan the Cuckoo.’ They won’t ask too many questions.”
Nello thought for some little time. His thoughts went back to a very miserable night, some six months ago. He had been playing in the streets and had returned home with nothing. He owed the rent for the miserable hovel in which they sheltered; they had no food.
He had looked his sister squarely in the face and had whispered the question—“Is life worth living, Anita, under such conditions?” She had returned his gaze with a face as white as his own, but she had not faltered, as she replied, “Nello, I leave it in your hands.” And, thank Heaven, he had conquered that terrible fit of despair, to find, later on, a new world opening to him.
He handed the wretched man a sum of money and spoke in very gentle tones.
“God be good to you, my poor friend, and soften your heart. I know not if the world has been too harsh to you, or you have too grievously offended the world. Go in peace. I am not your judge, and I will not be your executioner.”
With a brief blessing, the outlaw took the money and slunk away in the gathering darkness.
“I shall remember your face for ever,” he whispered in farewell. “It is not likely we shall ever meet again. But if we do and I can repay my debt, I will, and with interest.”
A few hours later Nello was in St. Petersburg. He put up at one of the best hotels in the city, acting upon the instructions of Salmoros. That gentleman had urged upon him the necessity of keeping up a good appearance, and spending money lavishly, at any rate for the present.
That night he had confused dreams of his gentle little sister Anita, the beautiful Princess Nada, and the rough outlaw whom he had saved from justice.
Next morning he made his way to the British Embassy and inquired for Lord Ickfold, mentioning thathe had come on a special mission from the Baron Salmoros. In a few moments he was shown into His Excellency’s presence.
Lord Ickfold was a handsome, presentable man of about sixty years of age. Contrary to the fashion of the day, he was clean-shaven. Being a widower, an unmarried daughter presided over the establishment. This morning he was at a somewhat latedéjeuner, alone.
He rose and shook the young man cordially by the hand. “Anybody who comes from my good old friend Salmoros is especially welcome,” he said with true diplomatic urbanity. “By the way, have you breakfasted? I am very late; I had to send important despatches last night. I did not get to bed till four this morning.”
Nello answered with equal courtesy that he had already made his meal, and handed him the bulgy packet with which the Baron had entrusted him.
The Ambassador perused the contents of the packet slowly as he consumed his breakfast. But the last letter he read seemed to agitate him to an unwonted degree. He jumped up hastily, rang the bell, and commanded the footman to order his carriage immediately. For a moment he almost seemed oblivious of the young man’s presence.
“Pardon me, Signor Corsini. I must drive to the Winter Palace at once; the news in the last letter is of extreme urgency. We will go down together when the carriage comes. Can I drop you anywhere?”
But Nello preferred to walk and take his bearingsof the wonderful city. Lord Ickfold shook him warmly by the hand at parting.
“I have your address. It will not be long before I shall want to see you again. If you are writing to the Baron to-day, please give him my warmest regards and a thousand thanks. It may be a little time, for certain reasons, before I communicate with him directly. In fact, I would rather send a letter to you to be forwarded.”
Nello walked the gay streets for some time. Being a very shrewd young man, in spite of his comparative youth, it seemed to him that Lord Ickfold and the Baron were playing some subtle game, in which he was to be used as a pawn.
But what did that matter, so long as his career was advanced between the pair?
And then his thoughts reverted to the charming young Princess Nada. When would he meet her again? She would be in St. Petersburg this week, so she had told him.
In the private room of Count Golitzine, the Czar’s private secretary, sat two men—the Count himself and Lord Ickfold, the British Ambassador. The apartment was in a secluded wing of the Winter Palace.
The Ambassador was reading aloud from the Baron’s covering letter, which he held in his hands.
“Remember, the young man, Corsini, whom I am sending you is everything for your purpose. Only you must keep him in entire ignorance of the part he is to play—at any rate for the present—as he is still very young and might be open to the influence of women. This is a most vital point. He is very intelligent without being suspicious; honourable, trustworthy, and innocent, without being a fool. I think I have taken his measure pretty accurately. He is devoted to his art—he is really a most accomplished musician, as the notices I enclose will prove—and you must get him pushed forward to the premier place, through the good offices of your friends. The Zouroffs are returning for a short space to the Court and he will have theentréeto their house. I fancy, from what I have heard, that the Princess Nada is just a little attracted by him. The important thing, however, is to get him an introduction to La Belle Quéro. She is hand in glove with Prince Zouroff,and from that fact alone to be suspected. They have been in correspondence with each other all the short time he has been in England; but although I have tried my best, I have never been able to get hold of any of their letters.”
Lord Ickfold paused a moment and looked at the Count, who nodded his head.
“Yes, I agree. Corsini may be very useful, especially if he manages to captivate La Belle Quéro. That is, no doubt, what Salmoros has in his mind, amongst several other things.”
The Ambassador resumed his reading. “I regret that I have but a slight clue to what I conceive to be a very bold and desperate conspiracy, in which Zouroff is one of the leading figures. The man has a certain amount of brains and a considerable amount of daring, which makes him the more to be feared. But the information which I send your Excellency in other letters is absolutely reliable. For the present, until we can learn more, use all your influence through Golitzine and others to make sure that the Emperor does not appear in public more often than is absolutely necessary. Otherwise, I fear disaster.”
The two men discussed the situation for some time. There were other documents besides the covering letter which they read very carefully.
Golitzine summed up, as it were. “Our hopes lie in the direction of La Belle Quéro through this young Italian, who, you tell me, is handsome and also a talented artist.”
“You have read in one of those other letters whatSalmoros has said of him—that he has created a considerable success in London, and only just wants a little influence to push him into the front rank.”
The Count smiled. “That is easy, my dear friend. The Director of the Imperial Opera is getting a trifle old. We will pension him, and put Corsini in his place.”
“A bold stroke,” said Lord Ickfold admiringly. “There is something to be said for an autocratic government after all. We dare not do anything of the kind in our country; all the Press would be up in arms. With you, a stroke of the pen settles everything.”
The Count’s smile deepened. “And after all, my lord, in the long run, it works as well as in your democratic country. In the end, substantial justice is done, rather more swiftly, by our methods.”
“It seems to me that La Belle Quéro is the crux,” commented the Ambassador. “Suppose she refuses to fall in love with this Corsini, what then?”
“She will not refuse,” replied the Count, speaking with his assured man-of-the-world air. “The relations between her and the Prince have been of long standing, I admit, and she is also a woman who might be attracted by a certain amount of brutality which our excellent friend Boris has in perfect abundance. But this young man is a Latin like herself, an artist like herself. Bah! In twenty-four hours Zouroff will be forgotten. Besides, he is verging on middle age, and this Corsini is a youth. Besides, further, he will be the Director of the Imperial Opera. She will be dependent upon him for small kindnesses,little favours, which I shall instruct him to be lavish of. You understand?”
The morning after the interview between these two exalted personages, the Ambassador’s smart carriage stopped at Nello’s hotel. The slim secretary alighted and sought the young musician, with a message from his chief that he desired to see him immediately at the Embassy.
“You see I have not forgotten you, Signor Corsini,” was Lord Ickfold’s cordial greeting as Nello entered the room. “Salmoros has asked me to use all my influence to advance you in your profession, and I intend to do so. It will give me the greatest pleasure.”
He wrote a brief note and handed it to the young man. “This is a letter to Count Golitzine, the Emperor’s secretary, who wields more influence than anybody in St. Petersburg. You will find him at the Winter Palace. My carriage is waiting to drive you there.”
Events were happening very rapidly, Nello thought. When Salmoros took a thing up, the wheels of action appeared to move very easily. Also, he was beginning to get a firm foothold in the great world of diplomacy and politics. Yesterday he had made the acquaintance of the British Ambassador; this morning he was to interview the Emperor’s private secretary, the most powerful man in St. Petersburg, and consequently in Russia.
The Count received him with more than ordinary graciousness, and questioned him kindly about his London experiences. Lounging by the mantelpieceof the room in which the two men were seated, was a tall, quietly-dressed middle-aged man in civilian clothes. Nello took him to be either an official of the Court or a private friend of the secretary.
At a pause in the conversation, this person, whoever he was, suddenly turned to the young man and carelessly asked in French, “Do you know any one of position in St. Petersburg, Signor Corsini?”
Nello frankly answered that with the exception of Lord Ickfold and the Count, he knew nobody except the Princess Zouroff and her daughter. He explained how he had met them, how he had played at their house in London, and been invited to visit them here.
Nello fancied that a slight frown come over the unknown’s face at mention of the name Zouroff. But his comment was quite simple. “Ah, the Ambassador and the Count between them will soon extend your circle of acquaintance. I understand you come with strong letters of introduction from that splendid old fellow, Salmoros.”
Nello bowed. Evidently this personage, to whom he had not been introduced, knew what was going on. He must certainly be an official of some importance, and appeared to be quite at his ease in Golitzine’s presence.
The Count resumed his conversation with Nello, and the other man quitted his lounging position by the fire-place, and walked down the long room to the deep bay window, from which he pretended to look out. But all the while he was listening intently to the other two.
“And now, Signor Corsini, I have a little surprise for you, and one which I hope will be welcome,” were the Count’s parting words. “The present Director of the Imperial Opera has for some time contemplated retirement. He is growing a little deaf, and finds that the infirmity militates against the proper performance of his duties. He will relinquish his post next week, and I have much pleasure in conferring the appointment upon you. I do so with the sanction of my Imperial Master, to whom I have shown the Baron’s strong letters of recommendation.”
Nello felt the room going round. Could he believe his ears? Only a few hours in St. Petersburg, and promoted to one of the most coveted posts in the musical world! Why, he was as great as Degraux. Truly, the white-haired Salmoros was a wizard, masquerading under the guise of a benevolent financier.
With a great effort he pulled himself together and stammered his thanks. “I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude, your Excellency. I shall do my best to justify your kindness. But I feel it will be no easy task to follow in the footsteps of such an illustrious predecessor.”
As soon as Nello had retired, the man who was lounging in the bay window turned round to Golitzine and shot at him the abrupt question, “Well, what do you think of him, eh? Is that shrewd old fellow Salmoros right? Will he be useful to us?”
The Count replied in respectful tones. “It is rather early to form a judgment, your Majesty; butI must own I am very favourably impressed with the young man. I think he would be as true as steel to those who had befriended him.”
Nello had little suspected that the tall middle-aged person, dressed in civilian attire, whom he had taken for an official of the Court or a personal friend of the Count’s, was the Emperor Alexander himself, the autocrat of all the Russias, supposed to be the strongest man in Europe, who could bend a horse-shoe between his fingers.
“The one thing to do now is to bring this young Italian and La Belle Quéro together.” The Emperor spoke in a musing tone. “That is what the Baron intends. And we know besides that she is suspected by our secret police. Half the men who go to her little parties are in their black books; about Zouroff, we have already pretty convincing evidence. My own belief is that she is one of the prime movers in the affair.”
“So far, of course, nothing has been brought home to her. She entertains these men, I know, but she is a foreigner, a Spaniard, and cannot be well acquainted with our domestic politics,” interjected the Count, who was rather favourably impressed with the beautiful contralto. “Still, in this direction, Corsini may be very useful. He may be able to worm something out of her.”
“Well, Golitzine, we will bring matters to a head as soon as possible, so far as these two people are concerned,” commanded his Majesty. “Let your wife give a concert before the week is out and engage La Belle Quéro and this young Corsini for it.”
The Count bowed. “I will execute your orders, Sire. I agree it would be politic to introduce them under social auspices, rather than strictly business ones. Next week he will be installed at the Opera, and must at once come into touch with her in pursuance of his professional duties.”
“Precisely. That is just what I wish to anticipate. You have, as always, most accurately taken my meaning.”
A gleam of anxiety came into Golitzine’s eyes as he ventured to give a word of warning.
“I trust that your Majesty does not propose to do me the honor of attending this function?”
“Why not? I had rather thought of coming, in order to learn from you how the first act of the comedy was going. What are your objections?”
“You will remember, Sire, the solemn warning Salmoros has given me: that you should show yourself in public as little as possible. I would beseech your Majesty to pay heed to that warning. I cannot bar the suspects from my house. Zouroff, for example, who arrives to-morrow, must receive an invitation.”
The Emperor indulged in an angry gesture. “It has come to something when I have to slink away and hide myself from a traitor like that! But you are right, Count; Salmoros is right. We must bide our time until we can catch them red-handed. Then, Heaven help them! No, I will not attend your wife’s concert, from motives of prudence. But you will let me know early next morning if the scheme is progressing?”
Count Golitzine accompanied his Royal Master to the door; then he returned to his seat to meditate profoundly over what was happening.
It wanted two days to Nello Corsini’s assumption of his post as director of the Imperial Opera, and to-night was the night of Countess Golitzine’s concert.
Nello was to play to-night in his private capacity of violinist, his fame having already spread abroad through the good offices of the Count. As soon as he took up his office as director he would not be able to take on many private engagements. To use the language of Degraux, he would be one of the exploiters rather than one of the exploited.
The saloons of the Countess were very crowded. A rumour had gone around that the Emperor himself would grace the function with his august presence. This rumour, as the previous chapter has revealed, was a false one; but its circulation had provided the hostess with many guests who otherwise would not have put in an appearance.
Nello Corsini, at present unrecognised by the fashionable crowd which had only heard of him by name, made his way amongst the beautifully attired men and women. There was no familiar face amongst this vast throng. For a moment he felt just a little home-sick; he thought of his little sister Anita. Oh, why could he not have brought her?
And then, suddenly, his glance brightened. Standinga foot in front of him were the grey-haired Princess Zouroff and her radiant, charming daughter.
Nada stretched out a welcoming hand. “We must have raced each other across Europe. I see you have your violin-case with you. You are going to play.”
“Yes, and I shall certainly play your favourite. I arrived just a day or two in front of you, and of course, you have not heard of my good fortune. Through the offices of Count Golitzine, I have been appointed to the post of Director of the Imperial Opera.”
The young girl opened her eyes wide; and turned to her mother. “What do you think of that, dearest? Signor Corsini is appointed to the directorship of the Imperial Opera.”
The elder woman smiled, and replied in her calm, quiet accents, directing her gaze at the young Italian.
“I told you, Signor, that the name of Salmoros was one to conjure with in Russia.”
Nello was about to reply, when the young Princess put her finger to her lips. A sudden hush had spread over the assembly. A beautiful young Spanish woman had just ascended the small platform—a young woman known by the affectionate nickname of La Belle Quéro.
She sang the well-known song fromLucrezia Borgia, “Il Segreto per esse felice,” in her deep, resonant, contralto tones. She sang it with a vigour and abandon which placed beyond question the fact that she was a superb artist, as well as a beautiful woman.
When she had finished, there was tremendous applause. An encore was insisted on and granted by the obligingprima donna. The Count Golitzine himself led the great singer from the platform to a seat. His keen eye had already observed Corsini in attendance on the Zouroffs. He beckoned to the young man, who made a hasty apology to the Princess and her daughter.
“I have the pleasure of presenting one great artist to another,” said the Count in his suavest tones. “Signor Corsini, who will presently enchant us on the violin, to Madame Quéro, who has already captivated us with her liquid notes. You have no doubt already heard, Madame, that next week Signor Corsini takes over the post of Director of the Imperial Opera.”
Madame Quéro—she had a husband knocking about somewhere in Spain, who never came into her calculations or scheme of existence—flashed at the handsome young Italian a very charming and provocative smile.
“We shall have to work together very soon, shall we not, Signor? I am afraid you will find me a somewhat difficult person. It is just as well we should meet first on neutral ground. Perhaps when we do quarrel, we may be disposed to forgive each other the more readily for that fact.”
Nello was becoming quite a man of the world in this rarefied atmosphere into which he had been so suddenly projected. He replied to the raillery of the beautiful singer in becoming language. She swept an approving glance over him.
“I think we shall soon be very good friends,” she said in a gracious voice. “Our present Director is a bit of a bully, and I believe hates women.” She shrugged her shapely shoulders. “Well, he is ancient and cantankerous. You are young; I am sure you do not hate women, just because they are the inferior sex.”
The smile that accompanied the words became more seductive. Corsini was a little put to it to preserve his equilibrium. He had been welcomed cordially by a Princess and her charming daughter. Here was a celebratedprima donnaof great beauty, openly declaring that she was ready to flirt with him—ready to be made love to, if he were disposed that way.
He paid her some gallant compliments, of the kind that come readily to the lips of members of the Latin races; but, as he did so, his glance stole unconsciously to the lovely young Princess, and involuntarily there came into his eyes a light that was noted by the observant Spanish woman.
“You admire the Princess Nada Zouroff immensely. Is it not so? You have a good excuse; she is certainly very beautiful. An exquisite bud rather than a full-grown rose, eh, my friend?”
“Perhaps, Madame,” replied the diplomatic Italian. “But all flowers are beautiful, whether in bud or full blossom.”
“For myself, were I a man, I should not be very greatly attracted by immaturity. We are using flowers in the form of an allegory. Of course we are really speaking of women.” She threw at him one ofher most dazzling smiles. There was nothing immature, nothing of the ripening bud about the opulent beauty of La Belle Quéro.
Corsini, seeing what was expected of him, returned that alluring smile with a glance of respectful admiration. He had already gathered that she was a popular idol, and wielded great influence in the musical world.
Personally, he preferred the simpler and more modest loveliness of the charming young Princess. But it was politic to win the good opinion of such an influential personage, and she was evidently not the sort of woman to tolerate rivalry.
For the next five minutes he made himself as agreeable as possible, and the handsome singer was obviously impressed. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the conductor of the concert, who intimated to Corsini that his would be the next turn.
Madame Quéro rose. “I must not keep you. Well, I hope we shall be very great friends. I shall stay to hear your solo and then I shall leave. I feel just a little fatigued to-night; not quite in the mood for this sort of scene, gay and brilliant as it is.”
With a gracious inclination of her handsome head, she walked with her graceful, swimming gait to the entrance of the big saloon. Arrived at the doors she waited till Corsini was on the platform and listened attentively to his performance. There was great applause when he had finished, and she clapped her hands enthusiastically. The artist in her responded to the artist in him. It would not be true to say thatshe had not heard greater masters, but there was a subtle quality in his playing that revealed true genius. He always excelled in the appealing and sentimental passages.
But while she was listening, to all appearances with the closest attention, her glance was ever roaming through the open doors, down the grand staircase. It was evident that she was looking for somebody, and restless and disappointed because of his non-arrival.
And then, just as she was preparing to leave, a sudden light came into her beautiful eyes. The tall soldierly figure of Zouroff was ascending the stairs.
Her smile was just a little cold, her tones reproachful.
“I was just going; you promised to be here in time to hear me sing. Why are you so late?”
The Prince drew her a little out of earshot. He spoke with his usual ease and assurance. He admired the beautiful singer more than any woman of his acquaintance, but he never spoiled any member of the gentler sex with too great a display of politeness or solicitude.
“Is it so very difficult to guess? There are certain things that must always come first in a man’s life.”
“Spare me that ancient platitude. You have indulged in it so often.” Her voice was restrained and low, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Zouroff appealed in many ways to her passionate but rather hard nature, but there were times when his indifference, his brutal frankness, cut her to the quick.
But the Prince was not a man to pay more than passing heed to the symptoms of a woman’s gathering displeasure. By nature he was a savage. To a certain extent he was susceptible to female beauty and fascination, but deep down in his heart he had a profound contempt for women, for their uncontrolled feelings, their little tricks of sentiment, their abject subservience to their emotions.
“Things go well,” he said, in his hard, level tones. “I trust we shall not have to wait very long now. We held a very important meeting to-night; it was prolonged beyond the hour I expected. That is why I am late and could not get here in time to hear you sing.”
The beautiful singer seemed but half appeased by this rather curt apology. It confirmed what he had told her so often before, that overwhelming ambition, the advancement of his political schemes, were all powerful influences in his life; that a woman’s devoted affection weighed but as a feather in the scale against these.
“Let us talk of other things,” she said, speaking in a tone of assumed lightness.
“But I thought you took a great interest in these matters. At any rate you have pretended to.” His voice was hard and rasping, and there was a sneer in it, an angry gleam in his eyes. He could not bear to be crossed.
“At the proper time and place. But I don’t choose to talk of just one subject every moment we spend together. I am pleased, my friend, that the prospects are so good. And now, for a few seconds,shall we talk of those other things which are not quite so unimportant to the world in general as they appear to you.”
“And those other things?” inquired Zouroff in his surliest and most repellant manner.
“Well, for example, we have just been listening to our new Director of the Opera, Signor Corsini. He has played some very beautiful things; he is a fine artist. Have you met him yet?”
Zouroff frowned heavily. “Yes, I have. The fellow played once at the Embassy in London, and my mother and sister raved about him. You know I am no judge of instrumental music—rather dislike it than otherwise. And this young man seemed to me particularly objectionable.”
“I wonder why?” inquired theprima donnawith a most innocent expression. “Just because your mother and sister admired his genius? What a very insufficient reason.”
Zouroff vouchsafed no reply to this delicate raillery, and Madame Quéro continued in the same detached, indifferent tones. “The Count introduced him to me; we had a long chat together. I think he is a most charming young man, quite unaffected, with delightful manners and very handsome. I predict he will be excessively popular.”
“I wonder if you realise how much you are annoying me when you talk in this manner?” asked the Prince roughly.
La Belle Quéro held out her hand. “My friend, it seems to me you are in rather a savage mood to-night, and I am not in the best of tempers myself.If we talk much longer we may have a serious quarrel. I will say good-night.”
“Good-night,” said the Prince in a low and harsh voice. “Perhaps it is as well we should separate. There are a lot of people here I must speak to.”
Madame Quéro turned towards the staircase. He strode after her and laid his big, strong hand none too gently on her arm.
“And please listen once and for all to me. If it pleases you to amuse yourself with this young Corsini, or for the matter of that with any other effeminate foreigner, you need fear no interference from me. Understand that.”
Tears of rage came into the beautiful eyes. “Take your hand away, you savage, you are hurting me. As for what you have just said in your usual brutal manner, I perfectly grasp your meaning. And please also to understand this from me. If I choose to turn my fancy in that or any other direction, I shall not trouble to consult you, much less beg for your permission.”
With a muttered curse Zouroff released her arm, whose delicate flesh he had bruised, turned on his heel and re-entered the concert saloon.
And next morning, Golitzine, whose sharp eyes had noted the pleasant talk between Corsini and the beautiful singer, also the way in which Zouroff had flung away from her as she descended the grand staircase, was able to report to his Imperial Master that the first act in the little comedy had opened well.
The relations between the handsome singer and the new Director, so pleasantly established on the night of the Countess Golitzine’s concert, progressed very smoothly. La Belle Quéro was unwontedly gentle and submissive in her acceptance of any professional suggestions from the handsome young Italian.
It was the general gossip that she was a good deal in love with Corsini, and wavering in her allegiance to the masterful and tyrannical Prince. Nello himself took the situation very calmly. In the first place, Madame Quéro was a married woman; to fall in love with her, were he so disposed, would be hopeless, unless he resolved to risk a scandal that might adversely affect their respective careers.
And more important still, although he felt for her a quite warm friendship, he was not the least in love. Her full and opulent beauty possessed little attraction for him.
Although at present he did not fully realise the fact, the serene loveliness of the young Princess Nada, combined with her girlishesprit, her air of rank and position, had cast a spell over him that he could not shake off. She would always be the lady of his dreams, although by the exigencies of their different stations, he would be compelled to worship her in secret and from afar.
She was surrounded with the halo of birth and great position. Madame Quéro, although a woman of genius and considerable brain power, had sprung from the peasant class. Her husband, whom she had married when little more than a child, had been a poor fisherman. She made him a handsome allowance, on the condition that he never intruded his rights nor exposed her to the annoyance of his presence.
Her glorious voice had lifted her from grinding poverty and obscurity, her quick mentality had enabled her to acquire much, to adapt herself, with more than fair success, to her new environment. But certain traces of her humble origin showed themselves very plainly at times, especially in moments of excitement—vulgarity of gesture, some common terms of speech, picked up from the gutter where she had played with other bare-footed children like herself.
To a man of Corsini’s naturally refined and elevated temperament, these unconscious revelations came as a disturbing shock. And the more intimate he became with her, the more frequently she revealed herself, having no longer occasion to wear a protecting mask.
In a palace or a fashionable drawing-room, with that careful mask on, La Belle Quéro was one personage, most careful as to speech and manner. In her dressing-room, or in familiar intercourse with a fellow artist, not of the great world, only belonging to the aristocracy of talent, she was quite another being, with the solecisms, the occasional coarse flashes of humor, of the Biscayan peasant.
No; although La Belle Quéro was so much nearer to him from the social point of view, for his origin had not been so much more distinguished than her own, he could not feel fascinated, in spite of her obvious liking for him.
Golitzine, who had spies everywhere, in the dressing-rooms of actresses, in the boudoirs of great ladies, knew all there was to know about the friendship of the conductor and theprima donna. Was Corsini taking advantage of his opportunities to acquire the woman’s confidence, so that it might serve his employer’s interest?
But Corsini was only being used as a pawn in the game. He did not even know that he was being used even in this humble capacity. He must have guessed that there were some subtle motives behind this sudden and unexpected preferment; but how could he possibly guess what these motives were?
If the young Italian was going to be made really useful, he would have to be enlightened. Salmoros, in his letter, had made a point of his being kept in the dark, fearful probably of some scruples on his part on being told that he was to play therôleof a spy.
He, Golitzine, was loath to go against the advice of Salmoros, but astute and shrewd as the financier was, he could not have thought out the situation with his usual judgment. The time had certainly arrived when Corsini must be told frankly the part he was expected to play.
After all, there was nothing in the least dishonourable in what he would be asked to do. Salmoros andthe Count between them, with the sanction of the Emperor, had set him on the high road to fame and fortune. Their enemies were a band of traitors, headed by Zouroff, assisted by Madame Quéro. He must and would, in honour bound, prove his allegiance to his benefactors.
Having made up his mind, it was not long before the energetic Count summoned the young Italian to a private interview in the Winter Palace. As on the previous occasion, the same tall stranger was present, lounging about the room—the stranger in whom Nello was later on to discover the Czar of all the Russias.
Golitzine did not introduce them, but he made a brief allusion. “We are going to have a rather confidential conversation, Signor, but you can speak freely before this gentleman. He is perfectly in my confidence.”
Nello bowed, feeling a little embarrassed. He would have been more at his ease if the tall stranger had not been present.
The Count proceeded in his smooth, conciliatory accents. “I hear very flattering accounts, so far, of your directorship. You have excited less envy than I expected, under the rather unusual circumstances. And you have also won some golden opinions. I am told that Madame Quéro, in particular, has distinguished you with a somewhat marked friendship. And she is reported to be a rather difficult woman to get on with. I know our late Director found her so, to his frequent annoyance.”
Nello blushed deeply. He was very sensitive, andit vexed him to find that his friendship with the handsome Spanish woman had been already commented on. If these comments had reached Golitzine, they had probably also reached the Princess Zouroff and her daughter.
“The relations between Madame Quéro and myself are, I am pleased to say, most cordial. Being the most distinguished member of the company, as she certainly is, it insures smooth working all round,” answered the young Italian.
“Quite, quite,” assented the suave Count. “Of course you have many opportunities of meeting and chatting. I hear that our friend, Prince Zouroff, is much chagrined that the charming lady in question is friendly with you. You have met the Prince, I presume. I should like to know your real opinion—of course in the strictest confidence.”
The flush on Corsini’s face deepened. He had met the Prince now on several occasions at different houses in the city, and that arrogant nobleman had always treated him with markedhauteur, hardly taking the trouble to acknowledge his polite salutation.
“I should say, your Excellency, that he is sadly deficient in the common courtesies of life.”
There was a subdued laugh from the man in civilian clothes, standing in the bay window. He turned round for a second and exchanged a meaning glance with the Count. Golitzine knew what that glance was intended to convey. “There was no love lost between these two.”
“I think, Signor Corsini, you have very pithily defined our friend’s deficiencies. If he could havecontrolled his somewhat brutal impulses and acquired a little more polish, he might have advanced farther in his career than now seems possible.”
There was a brief pause, which was broken by the Count.
“In the course of these chats with Madame Quéro, I dare say you learn a good deal of her general habits. Women are apt to get confidential with an agreeable male friend. I expect she has told you of those secret little parties to which only men are admitted, which she has at her villa?”
“I swear to your Excellency that to me she has never breathed a word of them.”
“I quite believe you, Signor. There is good reason why she should keep silence. Her last party was on Saturday night. The next time you are chatting with her, just mention it in a casual way, and ask her why she does not include you, the Director of the Opera, in her intimate circle?”
“I will certainly do so, Count,” replied Nello just a little piqued at the information he had received. It was strange that Madame Quéro had never invited him to one of these, presumably, select parties.
“By the way,” added the Count. “If she should ask you where you got your information from I must request you not to mention my name. Refuse to satisfy her curiosity. I have special reasons for this.”
Nello promised that he would obey the Count’s injunction, and rose to leave, under the impression that the interview was ended. But Golitzine waved him to his seat.
“Just a few moments more, Signor Corsini. I want to take you a little farther into my confidence. We all agree that you are a very capable artist, but I suppose you may sometimes have wondered why your way in this country has been made so very easy; why, in short, your success has been so rapid.”
“It has occurred to me many times, your Excellency, but I did not like to ask directly for an explanation,” replied the young violinist quietly. “I thought that would come at the proper time and place. Am I correct in assuming that I am to be given it now?”
“It shall be given you now,” answered the Count in an equally equable voice. “And I am going to speak very plainly, Signor Corsini. Salmoros admired your talent greatly; he told me that in a private letter, and he wished to push you for reason of that; but he also perceived in you different qualities that would serve his own purposes—purposes which are closely associated with the welfare of the Russian Empire.”
The Count suddenly rose and waved his hand in the direction of the silent man, lounging in the bay window.
“I am going to make a somewhat dramatic introduction. I present Signor Corsini, the protégé of Baron Salmoros, to the Emperor Alexander himself, who has been a silent witness of our interview.”
Corsini rose and bowed profoundly. Unused to the atmosphere of courts, he was bewildered as to the exact etiquette on such occasions. Ought he to kneel and kiss the Emperor’s hand? He had a hazy notionhe had read somewhere that this was the prescribed ritual.
The Emperor put an end to his embarrassment by advancing and holding out to him that strong hand which could bend a horse-shoe between its fingers.
“I am delighted to welcome you, Signor. Salmoros has vouched for you. Our good friend, Golitzine, who is a keen judge of men, assures me that you are loyal and true to those who befriend you, as we have done.”
“My services, for what they are worth, are entirely at your Majesty’s disposal,” answered Corsini fervently. It was but natural he should be a little overcome by the gracious condescension of such a high personage. He was not even petty enough to be chagrined by the discovery that his sudden advancement was not due solely to his artistic genius.
The Emperor, having said just what was needful, retired to the seclusion of his bay window. The astute Count resumed the conversation.
“I trust, Signor Corsini, there are no reservations in your expressions of loyalty to those who have advanced and befriended you?”
“I am afraid I do not quite follow your Excellency.”
“Tut, tut, my good young friend. I am quite sure we shall understand each other very quickly. La Belle Quéro, according to report, is very enamoured of you—an artist like herself, a handsome and presentable young man; vastly, in my opinion, superior to the brutal Zouroff. Now, this important thing is—what are your sentiments towards her?”
Nello’s answer was very frank. “I have grown to look upon her simply as a kind and good friend.”
Golitzine drew a breath of relief. It was as he had hoped. The young musician had placed his fancy on one far removed from him, by rank and position. The comparatively coarse charm of the handsome singer could not compete with the youthful beauty of the Princess Nada. A benign expression stole over his lined face.
“And if you knew that Madame Quéro was taking advantage of the hospitality of this country, of her apparently neutral position, to conspire and plot with his Majesty’s sworn enemies, you would be hand and glove with us to find out what you could in order to frustrate her designs?”
“Assuredly, your Excellency.” Nello had started from his seat and spoken with fervour. “My duty and my allegiance is to the Emperor, yourself, and the Baron Salmoros. Madame Quéro, good friend as I believed her to be, counts as nothing.”
“That is precisely what I want to be assured of,” said the Count. “Now, Signor, put that question I suggested to Madame Quéro. It may be she will tell you a deliberate lie. It may be she will seek to entangle you in this plot, and make you one of the conspirators as the price of her favour. I should prefer that, but I think she is too clever to do it. Anyway, report to me how things go, which way they go. And I rely upon it, that you are a faithful servant of the House of Romanoff.”
Nello assured him that he was, and returned to his hotel full of thought.
So this was what the apparently benevolent Salmoros had secured him for, to be a spy of the Russian Government. At first he felt a little indignant. La Belle Quéro might be a traitress, a conspirator, but was it his mission to unmask her?
Then his shrewd Latin sense came to his aid. Whatever their ulterior motives, his powerful friends had incidentally helped him, and his bounden duty was to them. If the handsome Spanish woman, who should have no part or lot in the political concerns of Russia, had chosen to mix herself up with a lot of base intriguers, that was her business. It was, after all, diamond cut diamond.
Perhaps he was the more impelled to the cause which the wily Golitzine had urged him to take, by the rumour in the circles where he chiefly mixed that the names of Prince Zouroff and La Belle Quéro were generally coupled together. It was currently reported that as soon as the beautiful singer could get a divorce from her complacent fisherman, she would marry the Prince. But in Roman Catholic countries divorce is not easily to be obtained, and the fascinating Madame Quéro was still united to the lover of her youth. And according to further rumour, Zouroff was not inclined to hurry matters on. As a matter of fact, he was much more interested in other things. Perhaps, also, the lady was not quite so keen as formerly.
So Nello resolved to play his part, the part that it was his bounden duty to play. If the Spanish woman and her confederates were playing a low-down game, he was playing a straight one by outwittingthem, in the interests of the Imperial House which had shown him such remarkable favour.
That night the two met, as Madame Quéro was going to her dressing-room. She had sung better than ever that evening, never had she aroused greater enthusiasm. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks were glowing with triumph. She met Corsini’s cold glance, and her smile faded away.
“You do not seem very amiable to-night, Signor. Have I had the misfortune to offend you in any way?”
The appealing look she darted at him was certainly that of a woman more or less in love. For a moment, Nello felt a little ashamed of the part he had to play; it seemed cowardly to hurt a woman. But after all, his duty was to his benefactors, and if she was the traitress they alleged she deserved no mercy.
Nello bowed, but made no immediate response. He was on the point of moving away, when she laid a detaining hand upon his arm.
“Stay, I beseech you! Why are you so cold? I have sung better than ever to-night, and yet you offer me no word of congratulation. Many a time, when I have sung badly, you have been profuse of your praises, and I thought we were such good friends!”
Nello saw his opportunity at once. “I used to think, Madame, that we were very good friends.”
“And has anything happened to alter your previous opinion?” inquired Madame Quéro in a faltering voice.
Again the young Italian made a movement to pass on, and again the impetuous woman detained him.
“If you please, we will not leave it where it is, with studied coldness on your part. Please tell me how I have offended you.”
Nello spoke with exaggerated courtesy. “Madame, I am too humble to have the right to be offended. I, the mere Director of an Opera, you, one of the idols of Europe.”
Theprima donnastamped an impatient foot. “Signor Corsini, you are trying my patience unduly. It is easy to see that you have some fancied grievance. Will you be good enough to explain what it is, or at any rate the nature of it?”
Corsini looked at her steadily. “Madame, you have been good enough to call me your friend. If that is the case, why have I not been invited to those little private suppers at your villa? So many go, that one more would not have made a serious addition.”
Her face went as white as death. “Who has told you such a falsehood?” she stammered.
Nello never took his eyes off her. The white face, the stammering tongue, proved that Golitzine was right. She had secret parties at her villa, and she was dismayed to find that anybody had heard of them.
“A friend of mine, whose name I must not reveal, Madame.”