The night after these thrilling events, Corsini went to dine with
Salmoros at his hotel.
The great financier always travelled in royal state on important
occasions. He lodged himself in the same fashion. At the present
moment he was occupying one of the most expensive suites in the hotel.
Two secretaries and a valet formed his retinue. He had journeyed all
the way by special trains.
Well, in a way he was a monarch himself--one of the half-dozen
undisputed kings of finance, who are the power behind titular
potentates and taken into their counsels before they resolve upon
decided action.
There was no other guest. Salmoros wished to talk to this young man
alone. Nothing appealed to the Baron like success. He was prepared to
admit that luck was a frequent element in success, and Corsini had
undoubtedly been lucky. A chance meeting with a discredited outlaw--so
much he had gathered from Golitzine in a brief conversation
to-day--had put the young Italian on the right track. All the same,
luck had a knack of presenting itself to people born to achieve
greatness. It presented itself to everybody, but the stupid people
were too blind to see and take advantage of it.
He remembered a word of warning that his old friend and patron, that
far-seeing statesman Lord Beaconsfield, had once addressed to him.
"Never associate yourself with unlucky people, my dear Salmoros." He
had faithfully regarded that warning during his strenuous years of
commercial and business intrigue.
The Baron had jestingly said yesterday that they would meet to-night
if that devil of a Zouroff left anybody alive. Well, they were all
alive, and the traitor Prince would soon be eating his heart out in
Siberia. And yet it had been touch and go. It had been a thrilling
day, and an ordinary man might have felt his nerves a little shaken
when the strain was over.
But Salmoros was as calm as if the destinies of the Russian Empire, in
which he took so keen an interest, had never hung for a moment in the
balance. Perhaps he had experienced and survived too many catastrophes
to feel very great emotion at another triumph, the last of a hundred
or more.
Corsini, on his side, with the jangling nerves of youth, was very
palpably agitated. His smile was forced, his face was twitching.
He could not dismiss from his mind these great events that had so
suddenly crowded into his life.
Nada, that peerless divinity whom he had adored from afar when there
seemed no hope, who had suddenly descended, as it were, to earth and
had promised to be his wife! Here was one intoxicating thought.
And then, last night the Emperor had called him into his private
cabinet, invested him with the title of Count of the Russian Empire
and promised him an even more substantial reward.
And yet he was the same man who, a short time ago, had been playing in
the streets for coppers which his half-starved sister collected. But
for the providential interference of dear old Papa Peron he might have
been playing there still, or sought refuge in an untimely grave.
Simply a turn of fortune's wheel.
Salmoros noted his agitation, and for a long time, did not press him
with any very direct conversation. He talked of music, of which he was
a great connoisseur, and presently he found that this subject drew the
young man out of his perturbed thoughts.
By the time the meal was finished, Corsini was almost his normal self.
The animated discussions over different composers, in which each
disputant defended his opinions warmly, had driven for a time into the
background the personal events of the last few days.
"We shall never agree about Russia," remarked the Baron at the end of
this artistic conference. "Now, we have had quite a long argument and
the subject is very absorbing to both of us. Let us talk of something
a little nearer home. The Signor Corsini I sent out to Russia in the
nature of a speculation is now Count Corsini, a member of the nobility
of the Russian Empire. Have you reflected over these facts and to what
extent they are going to influence your future?"
Nello answered candidly. "For the last few days, Baron, I seem to
have been living in a world of dreams. I never sought adventure, but
through you--no, I must not forget dear old Papa Peron, he was the
origin of all this--adventure has come to me."
At the mention of Peron's name, Salmoros lifted his glass and spoke in
a voice of emotion.
"To the memory of my dear old friend and comrade, who had a heart of
gold. Ah, why did he choose to die in that miserable garret, when he
knew I was so near? What misplaced pride!"
"He had the artistic temperament, Baron, but he was never a man of the
world. He would give, but he blushed to take," was Nello's answer.
"Well, you have asked me for my ideas as to the future. Candidly, I
have not yet formulated any, except as regards in one direction. For
one thing I would prefer not to remain in Russia."
The Baron smiled his quiet and comprehending smile. "There I think I
am with you. A charming place for a brief visit, but for a prolonged
residence, certainly not."
Corsini went on. "I love England and its free ways. Here there is too
much intrigue. I propose, when certain things are settled, to return
to England. The Emperor has kindly said that if I wish it the
directorship of the Imperial Opera is mine for life. It is a fine post
and I fully appreciate the compliment. But----"
Salmoros interrupted him. "I quite understand. You would sooner play
your violin at the Floral Hall in London than conduct the Imperial
Opera in this city of St. Petersburg, honeycombed with spies,
traitors, and actual or potential assassins?"
Nello nodded. It was very easy to explain to this wonderful old man,
who seemed to know what you were going to say before the words were
formed.
"Now confide in me," said the Baron in his most confidential tones.
"You dropped a rather significant phrase just now. You said you had
not yet formulated your ideas, except in one particular direction.
Will you tell me, or can I guess it?"
The young man blushed vividly. "I have been fortunate far beyond my
deserts, sir. The Princess Nada Zouroff, whom I first met in London
at the Russian Embassy, has been kind enough----"
"Don't be so formal, Nello," said the Baron kindly, using his
Christian name to put him at his ease. "You need not tell me any more.
I had a long talk with Golitzine this afternoon. Of course he told me
many things and amongst them was this item of news, that Nada is going
to marry you."
This wonderful old Salmoros knew everything, but how could he help it,
when so many channels of information were open to him? Corsini's
answer was a still deeper blush.
"She will make you a good wife. Golitzine knows them well; he speaks
in the highest terms of her and her mother. The father was a bully and
a ruffian, the brother we know was a traitor, and will get his
deserts."
He raised his glass, bowing to the young man with an old-world
courtesy.
"To the health of your _fiancee_, the future Countess Corsini. When do
you propose to marry?"
"I cannot fix the exact date, Baron. Her mother, you may have heard,
is very ill. Nada has only returned to the Palace to-day. It would
not have been safe for her to do so while that scoundrel Boris was at
large."
Salmoros mused for a few moments before he spoke again. "So you will
marry as soon as all the circumstances will permit. And I take it you
will reside in England. What does the young Princess say to that?"
"Nada loves England," was Corsini's answer, "and after the events of
last night Russia will not have very pleasant recollections for her or
her mother."
"True," agreed the Baron. "I shall very much like you to spend part of
your honeymoon with me at my place in Sussex, if it falls in with your
arrangements."
"I am sure we shall be delighted, sir," cried Nello. He paused and
added a little nervously: "But I hope you won't want to send me on any
more missions of this sort. If so, you must let me know the nature of
the danger beforehand."
Salmoros laughed good-humouredly. "No, my young friend, I will not
play that sort of trick upon you a second time. Besides, being a Count
and the husband of a very charming Princess, I doubt if I should find
you so useful for my purposes. I will do my utmost to advance your
artistic interests in England, instead. But remember, it is a promise;
you will bring your wife to my house in Sussex, if not upon your
honeymoon, at some time convenient to yourselves."
Nello assured the benevolent old Baron that they would certainly
accept his hospitality, and bade him good-night.
Outside he saw the four stalwart figures of his bodyguard waiting for
him. Beilski had not relaxed his precautions. It was still possible
that some fanatical and devoted adherent of Zouroff might resolve to
avenge his defeated chief.
A burly, bearded man was walking up and down outside the door of the
hotel. Corsini recognised him immediately--"Ivan the Cuckoo."
The four men drew nearer, as they perceived the late outlaw was
accosting him, but Corsini raised his hand and waved them back.
"I waited for you, Signor, to express my thanks to you who have so
nobly fulfilled your part of the bargain," said Ivan, speaking in low
tones. "I was at the Count's house an hour ago; he has promised me a
most substantial sum, part of which will go to my good old comrade,
Stepan. After all, Signor, if we must be truthful, it was he who
really saved the Emperor."
"I quite agree," answered Corsini. Yes, Stepan had expressed his
suspicions to Ivan, and Ivan's quick wit had developed the plan of
campaign, which the Italian had skilfully conducted. The honours
seemed a little unequally distributed. Corsini was a Count, with a
handsome sum of money. Ivan was to have also a substantial pecuniary
reward, and Stepan was to have some share of what Ivan received.
Still, it was no use pondering over these caprices of fortune.
"Signor," went on the late outlaw, "I am sick of Russia. As soon as I
get my money, and the Count promises it immediately, I shall leave
this country. I am tired of it. I shall go to England--I hear it is a
land of the free--set up a business there, and turn myself into an
honest man."
Corsini shook him by the hand. "Bravo, Ivan. Yes, by all means go to
England. It is, as you say, a land of the free. I shall go back there
as soon as I can. I am not over-fond of Russia."
Ivan's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps, Signor, we might meet there some day,
if it would not be presumption on my part to intrude on you."
"Nonsense, my good Ivan. I shall always be pleased to see you in
memory of those few moments we spent before the village ikon. Here is
an address to which you can always write me."
He felt very grateful to Ivan. If it had not been for the good
services of the "Cuckoo," he would never have been a Count of the
Russian Empire. He handed him an envelope on which he scribbled his
full title and description, addressed to the care of the Baron
Salmoros. Any letter directed to that quarter would be sure to reach
him, and he knew the Baron would be certain to pardon him for taking
the liberty.
* * * * *
A little later, in the leafy month of June, Corsini and his charming
young wife spent a week-end with Salmoros at his beautiful place,
Marwood Park, in Sussex.
Salmoros, with that spirit of unconscious ostentation which often
marks the _nouveau riche_, had built himself a very lordly pleasure
house, designed by an eminent architect. Although a childless man, and
a bachelor to boot, he had insisted upon a very spacious dwelling.
The eminent architect, a man of some humour, had remarked to him when
he laid before him the plans, "Most men, Baron, when they build
houses, build them too small; afterwards they have to enlarge. I have
made ample provision here for another wing, if it should be required.
It will not destroy the general scheme of the structure."
Of course, when the eminent architect made this suggestion, Salmoros
was comparatively a young man. He might marry and want to put aside
suites of rooms for his sons and daughters. The eminent architect had
this in his eye when he suggested the possibility of another wing.
Salmoros had agreed, but the other wing had never been built. He had
not married, and the house as it stood was spacious enough for his
wants.
Here he stored his valuable pictures, his rare china, his costly
antiques. His gardens were the best laid-out in England, his rock walk
was not to be equalled in the kingdom, his hot-houses were the pride
of the county.
Everything that money could purchase was his, not from a mere
common love of display, but that he would have everything of the
best--cellars stocked with the finest wines, cabinets filled with the
most choice cigars. A week-end with Salmoros was to the _bon viveur_
a period of ecstasy. Everything in that well-appointed _menage_ was
perfect.
Even Nada, accustomed to the splendours of the Zouroff Palace, was a
little overwhelmed by the stately magnificence of the great financier.
Corsini, of humble extraction, was fairly dazzled by it.
"We seem to walk on velvet, darling, don't we?" he whispered to his
wife as they went down the great staircase. "If we could only have a
little music, we might think we were in Paradise."
But the Baron had provided for that. There were no other guests during
the week-end. With the whim of an old man he had wanted to have them
to himself.
During the perfect dinner, prepared by a _chef_ to whom he paid an
enormous salary, a small orchestra played some exquisite music, so
softly rendered that it did not interfere with conversation. Salmoros
thought out all these things with the true spirit of the artist--the
artist with perhaps, in his complex spirit, a little of the Oriental.
Nada was enchanted. What seemed barbarous in Russia was here touched
with refinement, a different thing altogether. What a wonderful old
man he was!
And Corsini was equally delighted, with his artistic appreciation of
all that was beautiful and refined. The gaudy splendours of the Winter
Palace were vulgar compared to this perfect setting--and only for a
party of three--the exquisite glass and silver, the snowy napery, the
well-trained service, the full but subdued light, and that orchestra
in the gallery of the vast dining-room rendering that beautiful, but
not obtrusive, music, every member of the small band an artist.
The long meal was ended. Salmoros rose.
"Come into my favourite sitting-room," he said. "We can smoke there in
comfort, and Madame can have a cigarette."
He led the way into a cosy chamber, furnished in the most exquisite
taste. Easy, comfortable chairs abounded. Salmoros presented a
cigarette to the Princess and offered Corsini one of his choicest
cigars. There was a little period of silence, and then the Baron
turned to Corsini.
"Have you brought your violin with you, Nello?"
"I never travel without it, sir," replied the young man.
"Ah, then, when we have had our smoke, perhaps you will humour an old
man's whim. Will you play for me that lovely little romance which was
always your encore? There is a piano in yonder corner. Perhaps your
wife, who is a musician, will accompany you. If not, I will do my
best."
Later on Nello played, his charming wife accompanying him. The Baron
listened, enraptured.
"Ah, my dear Nello, that is exquisite music, exquisitely rendered," he
said when Corsini had finished. "That fellow who leads my orchestra is
good--good enough for dinner anyway--but he has not your perfect
touch. Ah, you remember me telling you once what I would give if you
could teach me to play like you. Well, that offer is still open."
Corsini smiled. "What would I not give to be the Baron Salmoros?"
The Baron raised himself from his artistic dreams. "Ah, my young
friend, everybody wants something the other has got, and so it will be
to the end of time."
He looked long and earnestly at the young couple before he spoke
again.
"Ah, how very strange is the world! Why should we grope our way in
dark, tortuous, and devious paths to destruction when sincerity,
truth, courage, and honesty of purpose will do it with less trouble
and more certainty. I sent you to St. Petersburg because I knew the
peril in which the Emperor, our good and faithful friend, existed--a
peril which, if the plot succeeded, would be a grave disaster to our
own diplomacy of Great Britain, and to all other countries, save
Germany. The plot was formed here, in London, by that traitor, Prince
Boris Zouroff, who possessed his Majesty's confidence. But all has
ended, my dear Count Corsini, as I had planned."
Then rising, the great financier, who was also a statesman, added to
Nada: "And I wish to heartily congratulate your Highness upon your
husband--a man in whom your Emperor, the Queen of this country, and
myself have the most perfect confidence."
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
words and intent.