II: THE MINIATURE
MICHAUD opened the door and stood back to admit my visitors, casting another look of intelligence at me. But the two did not enter at once; instead, there was much ado, whispers and suppressed laughter in the hall, one hanging back and one pushing forward, until my curiosity was alive, and I stood waiting with my eyes on the door. At last, with another ripple of laughter, they came in; two slight figures, muffled in the long, straight Russian cloaks, fur-edged, with conical hoods over their heads, their features as completely concealed as any nun’s of Port Royal. Determined to play my rôle of goldsmith to the life, I had hastily picked up a mallet and a bit of beaten gold, and, with these in my hands, I made a becoming obeisance. Both the cloaked figures responded, and here at once I noted a difference between them which no similarity of dress could disguise: the taller of the two inclined her hooded head with the air of a queen, the smaller one nodded at me with a suggestion of infinite good humour. They remained silent,—struck dumb, no doubt, at their own daring,—and we three stood confronting each other without a word. It was evident that the pause might be eternal, and I heard Michaud shuffling his feet outside the door;the rogue was listening. I had learned to speak Russian fairly well and I called it to my aid.
“How can I serve you, madame?” I said, awkwardly enough, I suspect, for the shorter girl tittered, while the taller one silenced her with a gesture, and addressed me in excellent French.
“You are a goldsmith, monsieur,” she said, in a clear voice, her accent sweet rather than harsh. “I would have this locket opened.”
As she spoke she held out a gold locket and chain which she had been hiding under her cloak. A glance told me that it was of great value, and a rare piece of workmanship, encrusted with precious jewels, and shaped like a pear. I took it gingerly, knowing no more of a goldsmith’s trade than an unborn babe, and fairly caught in my own trap. Whether she saw my awkwardness or not, I could not tell, but she drew back a little, seeming to examine me with curious eyes. I suddenly remembered my hands, when I became aware that both girls were looking at them; my signet was on my right hand, and their sharp eyes had discovered it, beyond a doubt; but what of it? They knew nothing of French heraldry—or as little as I knew of them, and I was more anxious than ever to peep under those hoods. Meanwhile, in spite of my busy thoughts, I was trying in vain to find an opening in the trinket. It showed not a crevice, but lay in myhand, a marvellous golden pear, gleaming with rubies and diamonds and sapphires, and with a crest that I could not decipher on its lower end.
“It baffles you, monsieur,” remarked the taller maiden, a trifle coldly.
The perspiration gathered on my brow; what, in the name of the saints, could I do with it? And I was figuring as a master goldsmith with the abominable thing lying sealed in my hand. The smaller nymph began to shake with laughter again under her cloak.
“’Tis magic, Daria,” she said, with the merriest laugh in the world, her hood slipping back enough to disclose the rosy, roguish face of a girl of sixteen or seventeen, with a pair of eyes as blue as the sky.
“I will have it open for all that,” retorted her companion imperiously. “Monsieur, there is a secret spring.”
“Precisely, mademoiselle,” I replied, with a bow, “so secret that ’twill not confide in a stranger.”
At this both laughed a little, but I saw that mademoiselle the imperious was growing impatient, and, in desperation, I turned the locket over and over, and as I did so my eye caught sight of the Russian Imperial arms on the small end of the pear, where a golden clasp represented the stem. In twisting the trinket thus in my fingers I must have pressed aspring, for lo! the pear fell apart and mademoiselle clapped her hands.
“The problem is solved,” she cried, while both of them craned their necks to look at the two pieces.
These already riveted my attention; in one side was a lock of hair and in the other a miniature that no one in Moscow could mistake, flattered though it was. It was the face of the dead Czar’s sister, her serene highness Sophia Alexeievna. There was an exclamation, either of surprise or pleasure, from one of the girls, and as I cast a covert glance at them I discovered that both hoods had been slightly displaced, and I saw the features of the taller of the two. Saint Denis, what a face! Young, beautiful, with the spirit of an empress; the dark eyes, keen and brilliant, the lips and cheeks deeply coloured, the brows sharply defined, the forehead like milk. My glance was so searching and so earnest that mademoiselle looked up and, encountering it, flashed me a look of such hauteur as I had never before seen in the eyes of woman, but she disdained to draw her hood. Meanwhile, the smaller and merrier beauty had given away to delight at the adventure.
“Take out the portrait, monsieur,” she said; “I have one here to put in its stead.”
“Nay,” interposed Mlle. Daria. “I will have none of it, Lissa; the jest has gone too far.”
“Daria, Daria!” cried the other, forgetful of me, “thou art afraid! thou, Daria Kirilovna!”
“I am not!” cried mademoiselle with defiance, tossing her head; “but I despise the trick.”
“Oh, sweetheart, thou——” Lissa broke off under a lightning glance from the dark eyes, for Mlle. Daria had remembered me.
But the merry damsel was not to be silenced; plucking at her companion’s cloak, she drew her off into the corner and whispered, and laughed, and entreated, apparently between jest and earnest, while I pretended to examine the miniature, all the while cudgelling my brains for a solution of this escapade, so rare was it for girls to be out on an adventure in Moscow, and girls too, of rank, for no one could doubt that who looked at them and heard them speak. Meanwhile Daria had been melting under the persuasion of the fair manœuvrer, and she came back slowly across the room, permitting rather than encouraging Lissa, who now took the lead.
“Prithee, monsieur,” she said,—she too, spoke French, though with a strong accent,—“take out that portrait for us and substitute this.” As she held out her hand her companion made a sudden motion as if to snatch the bit of ivory from it, but restrained herself and let Lissa hand me a miniature.
Then I understood mademoiselle’s hesitation, for the face limned on the ivory, more or less faithfully,was her own. Suppressing my surprise, I put it down on a table and began the delicate task of lifting the other miniature from its setting, and a task it was for my awkward fingers. With no knowledge of such baubles, and as little dexterity as a bear, I fully expected to break the picture in pieces, but, as luck would have it, either the ivory was already loose in its setting, or I again hit upon some secret spring, and out fell Sophia, just escaping annihilation by falling on Maître le Bastien’s taffety cloak that lay on the table. But now was the rub, for I had no notion of how I should set mademoiselle’s face in the room where Sophia’s had been, and both girls hung on my movements with breathless interest. I took up the bit of ivory with a gingerly touch and cautiously dropped it into the gaping setting, and lo! success beyond my wildest hopes. It seemed to sink into place, as if by magic, and Mlle. Lissa clapped her hands with delight.
“Good goldsmith!” she cried, beaming upon me. “What a fair exchange!”
“Hush, Vassalissa!” commanded Mlle. Daria; “for shame!”
But Lissa would not be suppressed.
“And is it not?” she cried mischievously. “Ah, bah; what a fright!” and she pointed derisively at Sophia’s portrait. “Come, come, Daria, let us have our frolic while we may!”
“Exactly so, while we may!” retorted Daria grimly; “but afterwards, my dear,” and she smiled a little.
“The deluge,” replied Vassalissa, laughing. “Ah, good master goldsmith, give us the trinket that we may get into the ark.”
But here was the difficulty; I could not fasten the miniature in place, nor could I for the life of me close the locket. The pear was twain and like to be so, as far as I could see, to the end of the world, and Mlle. Daria began to cast suspicious glances at me. I think, for the second time, she doubted that I was a goldsmith.
“Time presses, monsieur,” she said imperiously; “let us have it, as speedily as may be.”
I was red in the face and almost out of temper, but I saw no escape.
“Mademoiselle must leave it with me,” I replied as blandly as I could; “it will take time to secure the portrait and reclasp the locket.”
“Impossible!” said Daria; “we must have it now, monsieur; the matter is imperative.”
I saw that she was uneasy, and I thought that Vassalissa was a little alarmed; both girls pressed forward eagerly.
“We must have it!” they protested.
I took the bull by the horns. “Certainly, mademoiselle,” I said with a bow, “but it will not becompleted or fastened,” and I held out the two pieces of that ill-starred pear with a malicious smile.
They looked at each other and at me for a moment with blank faces, and then they broke out with irresistible, delicious, rippling laughter.
“What on earth shall we do?” cried Vassalissa; “the deluge and no ark! Monsieur, we have a fable that when the Evil One, in the form of a mouse, gnawed a hole in the ark, Uzh, the snake, saved the ship by thrusting his head into the place. Find us a snake therefore, good goldsmith, or our ark will surely sink. Mend us the pear, or——”
“Pshaw!” interrupted Mlle. Daria, with an imperious gesture, “what difference? I care not a straw! Finish it, monsieur, and send it to me at your leisure.”
“Daria!” sharply ejaculated her smaller companion, suddenly grown cautious.
And Daria bit her lip and turned crimson.
“Mademoiselle may trust me,” I said, drawing myself up to my full height, which compelled them both to look up at me.
She gave me a swift, penetrating glance, and her face, by nature haughty, suddenly relaxed and a smile, like sunshine, shone on it.
“I do, monsieur,” she said, with her queenly air. “You will send the locket, by a safe hand, to the house of the Prince Voronin, to be delivered only to me—the Princess Daria.”
Her companion fairly gasped, her blue eyes big with amazement, at mademoiselle’s daring.
“I will bring it with my own hand,” I said, with a profound bow.
And, as I spoke, there was a sharp knock at the door. Vassalissa started with a little shriek of nervous excitement, but Daria laughed.
“’Tis old Piotr,” she said.
As she spoke, the door opened and a tall, grey-haired Russian, wearing the dress of a boyar’s retainer, stood on the threshold.
“We have been here too long, little mistress,” he said in Russ, respectful, but impatient; “’tis neither safe nor wise.”
“Bear with us, Piotr,” said his mistress graciously; “’tis but a half hour under a whole moon; may not the children play?”
He shook his head, glancing with evident affection at the tall, girlish figure.
“Time waits for no man, Daria Kirilovna,” he said gravely, “and the morning is wiser than the evening.”[A]
“I come, I come!” she retorted, and with a gesture of farewell to me, she left the room, followed by Lissa, who cast a mischievous smile at me, and a doubtful glance at the trinket in my hands as she went out.