That same night his Eminence, as he had told Iván, was not dining
at his hotel: he was spending an evening--the last of a series--in the
company of Madame Demidoff, the most charming, the most mysterious,
the most dangerous of those Russian _grandes dames_, who haunt the
societies of Vienna, Paris, and London, live on apparently boundless
means, are received everywhere, admired by the men, envied by the
women, and feared by the staff and even the head of the respective
Russian embassies.
Why the beautiful Madame Demidoff should be feared by her own
compatriots, it were difficult for an Englishman or a Frenchman to
say; she was always affable, equally so to everyone whom she met in
society, and appeared not to take the slightest interest in matters
political; true, there had been a rumour a year ago, that at the
Austrian frontier one day, an over-zealous custom-house official, in
inspecting the luggage of Madame Demidoff, who was going across to
Russia, is said to have found some papers, wherein the lady gave a
curiously minute account of all the sayings and doings of the Tsar’s
subjects residing in Vienna, including one or two intimate
conversations between “Monsieur l’ambassadeur” and Madame his wife,
that had actually taken place in their own bedroom; but this never got
beyond a rumour, and the fact that “Monsieur l’ambassadeur” was
shortly afterwards asked to retire from the diplomatic service, may
have had nothing to do with that intimate conversation which, after
all, he had had with his wife between four walls and one or two doors.
Anyhow, his Excellency, the present ambassador, and all his staff,
also “Madame l’ambassadrice,” are always particularly amiable with
Madame Demidoff, and ask her to all their most select parties--but,
the moment she leaves, they sigh a sigh of relief, and when her name
is mentioned before his Excellency, he invariably says, “Do not name
her to me, it gives me a cold shiver down the back.”
However, all this was rumour, pure and simple; nothing definite had
ever been said that might throw suspicion of an ignoble calling on so
fair an addition to Viennese smart society, and all uncharitable
whispers were invariably suppressed by Madame Demidoff’s numerous
friends and admirers. Moreover, she entertained so superbly--her
little dinners were worthy of an ode by the court poet, and her balls
were counted among the great functions of the season.
One of these charming little dinners she proposed giving to-night to
one of her most ardent, most valued friends, his Eminence Cardinal
d’Orsay, who never shamed his high ecclesiastical office by avoiding
any pretty woman that was willing to help him to while away the
tediousness of diplomatic negotiations.
But she meant to leave Petersburg that very evening by the midnight
express, for it seemed to her beyond a doubt that some mystery was
connected with the Tsarevitch’s chase after the odalisque at the opera
ball last night; and this mystery, unless more power were placed in
her hands, she knew herself incapable of solving.
She had seen nothing of Eugen during the day, and the evening was
drawing on rapidly; she had but little hope of learning any very
important facts from him. The plot--if plot there were--once
successfully carried through, proved how well all plans must have been
laid; time and place were in its favour, and the information gleaned
by inquiries outside the opera house, where the crowd at the time of
the abduction numbered hundreds of thousands, was sure to be of very
meagre character.
But at present she was actually ignorant as to whether the Tsarevitch
had, after all, returned to his hotel, and the whole mystery burst as
a soap bubble. Then Lavrovski’s attitude would be interesting and
important to note.
There was a discreet rap at the door of the boudoir, where she had
been waiting for the last half-hour, nervously pacing up and down the
room, and at times sitting at her desk and covering sheets of paper
with rapid scribbling.
“Ah! it is you, Eugen,” she said, as, in answer to her impatient “Come
in,” the _moujik’s_ stolid figure appeared at the door. “Well! have
you learnt anything? Tell me as briefly as you can all the important
points while I make notes; you must be quick, for I can only spare a
few minutes.”
“According to your Excellency’s instructions,” began the Russian, “I
went at once to the opera house, where the last of the masks were then
departing, and the lights were being put out; I had conversations with
most of the attendants and some of the commissionaires who had been
stationed there, but no one seems to have taken much notice of the
odalisque, the black domino, or the _fiaker_. They all, however,
recollect an elderly gentleman, also in a black domino, making similar
inquiries to mine, who seemed very agitated and disappointed when he
could learn nothing.”
“Lavrovski, of course! Well?”
“At the hotel this morning, I gathered that the Tsarevitch has up to
this moment not reappeared, for Count Lavrovski, whom I followed at
about two o’clock this afternoon, went off to the business house of a
certain M. Furet, who, as I learnt from his _concierge_, is a very
well-known and much-thought-of detective in this city.”
“H’m! I wonder what his hopes were in that quarter!” mused Madame
Demidoff. “You are sure he did not send a telegram across to
Petersburg first?”
“Quite sure, your Excellency; I am coming to that presently. What
happened at the interview I, of course, cannot say, but what struck me
was, that when Count Lavrovski left M. Furet’s office half an hour
later, he seemed, if possible, more hopelessly dejected than before. I
concluded from that----”
“Never mind conclusions and surmises, my friend; it is facts we want
to get hold of,” said Madame Demidoff reflectively. “No doubt
Lavrovski did not dare to fully confide in this Furet, and the
detective, thereupon, would refuse to spend his time on a
wildgoose-chase. What happened after that?”
“There is very little more to tell, Excellency. Count Lavrovski went
straight back to the hotel, from whence he has not stirred all day.
Stepán, the Russian valet, however, went out about five o’clock. I
noticed he carried a piece of paper in his hand. I followed him to a
telegraph office, and was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the
contents, as he handed it across the counter.”
“And?”
“It contained only a few words: ‘Nicholas confined to his bed; doctors
say German measles; not the least serious; will be up in less than a
week. Lavrovski.’”
Madame Demidoff sat still awhile now, reflecting on what she had
heard, her brows knit, buried in thought.
“To whom was the telegram addressed?” was the last question she asked.
“I could not see, Excellency,” answered the man. “I could only get one
glance at it, and have told you the words that struck me.”
She had taken up a sheet of paper, and was making rapid notes of what
she had heard. Little enough it seemed as she read them over, and she
was tapping her foot, with impatience and impotent energy.
“It seems pretty clear that Lavrovski has made up his mind to wait,”
she said, “and is trying as best he can to keep them ignorant at
headquarters of the Tsarevitch’s disappearance. This is, no doubt,
Furet’s advice to him, who wants probably to have all the credit of
discovering Nicholas’ whereabouts, and the liberal reward that is sure
in that case to be his.
“I care nothing for the reward, but this mystery alarms me. Lavrovski!
Bah! an incompetent personage at best, now a coward, who thinks more
of his own safety than of the dangers that at this moment surround the
Tsarevitch in his unknown prison. Pray to God,” she added fervently,
“that it remain a prison, and not become a grave.”
“Amen!” said Eugen.
“Now, Eugen, that is, I think, all that you have to tell me. Your
work, after I have left, will not be very difficult. Follow this man
Furet wherever he goes, glean every scrap of information you can;
remember, if anyone discovers the Tsarevitch it must be I and you, not
they. You understand?”
A rumble of carriage wheels was now distinctly audible under the
portico. Madame Demidoff hastily finished what writing she had to do,
then locked her desk, and dismissed Eugen, who disappeared, silent and
stolid as he had come.
Then it was that the consummate histrionic art, which this fascinating
woman had at her fingers’ ends, showed itself in a way that, to a
hidden observer, would have seemed almost weird; in the space of less
than a minute, she seemed to have thrown off every vestige of anxiety
and agitation. Her face was calm and smiling; the words of welcome to
her exalted guest seemed ready to bubble forth, the hand that was
cordially stretched forward was neither cold nor trembling.
The lackey had thrown open the door and announced--
“His Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop of Beauvaix, Papal Nuncio.”
“Your Eminence does my poor house too much honour,” she said with a
gracious smile, while the Cardinal, with the gallantry peculiar to his
calling, kissed the tips of the dainty fingers that had been placed
between his own.
No wonder her countrymen were afraid of her; no wonder it was a slight
shiver she occasioned at times, in those who guessed what lay hidden
behind the impassive mask of the Russian _grande dame_, the friend of
princes, of kings and cardinals; perhaps it was the terror of the
unknown, a vague fear caused by this beautiful, impenetrable, and
certainly dangerous sphinx.
As for his Eminence, not being a Russian he had no cause to fear
Madame Demidoff, but every reason to admire her, and sharpen his
diplomatic wit against hers; as for shivers, they certainly were not
cold ones she gave him down the back. He saw in her a most brilliant
and agreeable conversationalist, who knew everybody that was worth
knowing, had been everywhere that was worth visiting; her taste in
matters artistic was unerring, her knowledge of interesting _objets
d’art_ the most complete on record. She had once written a most
interesting pamphlet on the thimbles of Catherine II., another on the
spurs of Peter the Great; she professed an ardent enthusiasm for the
Roman Catholic Church, and showed an equally genuine one for its high
dignitaries. Failing a trip to the Austrian Tyrol, his Eminence
thought the _recherché_ little dinners, _en tête-à-tête_ with
Madame Demidoff, the most consoling, most exhilarating holiday for his
much harassed mind.
“And your Eminence is really leaving us to-morrow?” said the fair
Russian with a sigh, when, having adjourned to her dainty boudoir
after dinner, she sat lazily reclining in an arm-chair, a gold-tipped
cigarette between her fingers, and a pair of arch black eyes fixed
coquettishly on the reserved, impassive face of her _vis-à-vis_.
“It is unkind to speak of it at this early hour, madame, and embitter
the last pleasing moments I shall spend in this delightful capital,”
replied the Cardinal.
“Come, come,” she added coquettishly, “I did not know that diplomacy
completely precluded truthfulness, even at the shrine of gallantry. If
rumour speak correctly, your Eminence is only leaving us for newer,
and therefore more enjoyable scenes.”
“Alas! _chère madame_, rumour, which spoke truly at morn, now talks
falsely at even. I certainly had intended to go to Carlsbad for a
fortnight’s relaxation among the beautiful mountains----”
“Incognito?” she asked mischievously.
“Incognito,” he smiled in reply. “But alas! unforeseen duties have
since called me elsewhere.”
“Why, that is very sudden,” she said; “M. Volenski, whom I met last
night, told me that your Eminence had completed your work, and were
going on leave of absence for three weeks at least.”
“Iván Volenski told you what was quite correct last night, but alas!
has ceased to be so to-day,” sighed his Eminence with angry
impatience.
“And your Eminence is going----?” she asked with truly feminine
curiosity.
He looked at her and smiled; she was bewitchingly pretty, smoking her
cigarette with that infinite grace so peculiar to Russian women.
“Elsewhere,” he said at last, as if in a vain attempt to check any
further questions.
But experienced diplomatist as, no doubt, the Papal Nuncio was, this
was a false move, for the word, as used by him, obviously hid a
mystery. Madame Demidoff bit her lip; she disliked secrets, until they
became her own. His Eminence had, quite unwittingly, aroused her
curiosity, and she had decided in her mind, in the space of a few
seconds, that the Cardinal should not leave her house to-night before
having told her where he was going the next day.
“Elsewhere is a vague word,” she said poutingly, “not to say
ungallant. Your Eminence has not accustomed me to such brusque
answers.”
Her annoyance, real or assumed, upset the inflammable cleric even more
than her archness.
“Believe me, _chère madame_,” he said, full of contrition, “that were
the secret mine I would confide it you immediately, and not attempt to
fence with words with you, which proceeding, I own, seems shockingly
ungallant.”
“Ah! then you admit that there is a secret connected with your change
of plans?”
“Nay! I never denied that, but the secret is not my own.”
“Would it be the first time then that your Eminence will have
entrusted me with a secret which was not wholly yours?” she asked.
Evidently the shaft told truly, for the Cardinal did not reply. She
saw she had gained a point. She was now burning with curiosity, and,
woman-like, was more determined than ever to pierce his Eminence’s
last attempts at mystery.
“I thought,” she added, with real reproach in her voice, “that when
your Eminence did me the honour to employ my poor services to aid you
in some of your delicate diplomatic missions, that we had both agreed
to share all political secrets with each other.”
“This is not a political secret, _chère madame_,” protested the
Cardinal.
“Private then? Ah! take care! my jealousy might prove more serious
than my curiosity.”
“Not my own, I repeat,” hastily corrected the Cardinal.
“Whose then?” she persisted. “Your Eminence told me that you had seen
no one this Ash-Wednesday save M. Volenski, and----”
She paused. In a moment she had guessed, and, more than that, had
guessed correctly. His Eminence’s conscious look spoke volumes.
“So your Eminence is taking a secret private message from his Majesty
to some remote place elsewhere,” she said, delighted at her first
success. “Ah! now you cannot damp my curiosity any more. You must tell
me all about it. For whom is the message?… A lady of course.… The
Emperor’s newest _chère amie_.… I have it!… The Princess Marïonoff!…
Your Eminence is going to Petersburg with a _billet doux_ from the
Emperor to the beautiful Princess Marïonoff!”
“_Chère madame_!” still feebly protested the Cardinal.
“Ah! your Eminence deserves that, after your want of confidence in me,
I should publish the fact in the Viennese papers to-morrow. What a
delightful paragraph it would make: ‘A cardinal as Cupid’s messenger.’
Truly the secret is now mine. Mine by right of conquest. Your Eminence
should have trusted a tried friend, and might have guessed that a
mystery which baffles Madame Demidoff has yet to be invented, and is
none of your or his Majesty’s making.”
The Cardinal was now truly distressed. His much boasted of discretion
had received a very severe blow, and he was not at all confident but
that this enigmatical woman would not take some unpleasant small
revenge, such as she threatened.
“Believe me, _chère madame_,” he ventured to say at last, “that
nothing but the most solemn promise to his Majesty prevented my
telling you from the first, all that you wished to know. Madame
Demidoff’s powers of guessing riddles are too widely known for any
poor diplomat like myself, to attempt to battle against them. I can
but throw myself, conquered as I am, entirely at your mercy.”
“I will be generous to your Eminence,” she said, once more captivating
and coquettish; “now that my whim is gratified, I can afford to be
merciful, but on one condition only----”
“And that is?”
“That you tell me what it is you are taking over to the Princess as a
gift from her exalted admirer; it cannot be merely a _billet doux_,
for the post would have been almost as safe as your Eminence. Is it
some rare and valuable gift? Diamonds? Pearls? or _objets d’art_?”
“It is, indeed, a most rare, not to say unique gift,” said the
Cardinal, now completely subjugated and resigned; “so absolutely
valuable, that no diamonds or pearls could ever have purchased them.”
“Ah?”
“Madame, remember I am at your mercy, you will consider this in the
light of a state secret.”
“Have I ever been known to betray any secrets?” she asked impatiently.
“So long as I have your promise----”
“No need of a fresh promise, surely your Eminence knows me. Come, you
have gone too far now to beat a retreat.”
“_Voilá!_ It appears that last year the beautiful Princess, in
admiring the beauties of the Hofburg, thought fit to cast longing eyes
on the celebrated candlesticks of gold and _vieux Vienne_, that had
belonged to Marie Antoinette.”
“Ah! yes I have heard of them, they are said to be most exquisite
works of art, and I believe many a member of the Hapsburg family has
longed in vain to possess them.”
“Until the said pair of Russian eyes were cast on them with a pleading
look, and an Imperial heart was unable to resist,” assented the
Cardinal.
“And his Majesty?”
“Has asked me to lay these same candlesticks, together with the
Imperial and Royal homage, at the dainty feet of his _chère amie_.”
“And your Eminence has accepted the task?”
“With great reluctance, I assure you, _chère madame_; but what would
you? His Majesty has the faculty of opening even an old diplomatist’s
heart, as easily as he does the secret springs of his candlesticks.”
“The secret springs?”
“Yes! did you not know the candlesticks contained secret springs, with
mysterious receptacles, that, according to history, contained many a
time Marie Antoinette’s private missives to her brother in Vienna? Oh!
they are most interesting heirlooms, most fascinating _bibelots_.”
Madame Demidoff said nothing more; for a while she sat, pensively
watching the clouds of smoke, as they rose from her cigarette, and her
eyes wandered from time to time towards the Cardinal, who sat absorbed
in reflections, probably of that Bohemian trip he was forced to
abandon.
“Ah! how I wish I could see those candlesticks!” said madame at last,
with an impatient little sigh.
“Have you never seen them? They are certainly the most exquisite works
of art it has ever been my good fortune to see.”
“Your Eminence, it is truly cruel to torture the soul of a humble
collector, like myself, by telling me of treasures I shall now never
behold.”
“Would that be so great a hardship?” he asked, smiling.
“Oh! do not laugh; I am simply burning with curiosity; all night I
shall dream of _vieux Vienne_ candlesticks, of gold mounts, of secret
springs. How can I imagine a thing, that I know must surpass anything
of the kind I have ever seen? It will be a nightmare surely.”
“Do not say that, _chère madame_, think of the tortures of remorse I
shall have to endure, knowing that my momentary indiscretion, in
speaking of these _bibelots_, has caused you a restless night.”
“Why not avoid the remorse for yourself and the nightmare for me by
gratifying my burning curiosity?”
“With all the pleasure in life,” said his Eminence with alacrity; “if
madame will honour me, by stepping into my carriage and paying my
dreary abode a visit, the candlesticks will but need unpacking----”
“Oh, _mon Dieu_! your Eminence! What you propose would be
_très-compromettant_ for me; think of your servants, of M. Volenski.”
“Pardon me, madame!” said his Eminence. “I am an old diplomatist, and
I ceased to be compromising to a pretty woman many years ago.”
“Diplomatists are always compromising, your Eminence! and I really
would not dare venture, for fear I should be punished by being forced
to take the veil of a Carmelite. But oh!” she added, with a pretty
gesture of entreaty, “will your Eminence allow me to send my
confidential maid to M. Volenski and ask him to give her the
candlesticks? I assure you I shall not sleep a wink to-night, and
to-morrow look as old as Madame l’ambassadrice, unless your Eminence
will satisfy my curiosity.”
“Madame, among my numerous sins, which, alas! the Recording Angel but
too faithfully marks against me, there has often occurred the sin of
giving a lady a sleepless night, but never that of causing her to look
a day older than her years. I feel sure such a sin would be beyond
forgiveness; so, if you will allow me, I will ring for my carriage and
drive to my hotel at once, in order to bring you the objects of your
curiosity myself. I doubt if Volenski is at home at this moment;
moreover, I have the key of my valise in which I know they are
locked.”
“Oh, your Eminence is too kind!” said Madame Demidoff, with almost
childish delight; “you will gauge the extent of my curiosity by the
fact that it has completely annihilated my courtesy, inasmuch as I
find it impossible to refuse your kind proposition.”
And, as if fearing that the Cardinal might change his mind, she rang
the bell, and ordered his Eminence’s carriage to be brought round
immediately. The Cardinal, very much amused at this old yet ever new
trait of feminine curiosity, promised not to tarry a moment, and ten
minutes later he took a temporary leave, and the roll of his carriage
soon died away in the distance.
Madame Demidoff sat for some moments quite still, unable to
move--perhaps from sheer intensity of excitement--till the very last
sound of those carriage wheels could be heard no more. A torpor, akin
to a trance, seemed to have mastered this woman, usually so full of
energy and vitality.
But this did not last, soon the reaction set in. How astonished would
her urbane guest have been, had he been gifted with second sight, and
now beheld the elegant, nonchalant _grande dame_ whom he had left
lazily lounging in an arm-chair, toying idly with a cigarette.
All eagerness and excitement, she feverishly opened her desk, and ran
through the few notes she had taken of Eugen’s report as to the
Tsarevitch’s disappearance, and Count Lavrovski’s pusillanimous
behaviour. Every now and then short, jerky sentences found their way,
half audibly, through her tightly clenched teeth; they were, as it
were, the safety-valves of this intense, inward excitement.
For what a chance of complete secrecy had fate thus placed in her way.
She shuddered as she recollected that hateful moment on the Austrian
frontier, when, through blunder or over-officiousness, alien hands had
come across her reports. Oh! the humiliation of it, the mockery of
obsequious civility, palpably directed towards a dangerous enemy, a
spy of the Russian Government. Then, the heavy hush-money, paid with
a liberal hand, and yet evidently wholly inadequate to stop chattering
tongues from propagating--oh! a mere whisper--the interesting fact,
that Madame Demidoff, the _élite_ of Viennese society, the friend of
princes, kings, and cardinals, derived her great wealth from money
paid to her for spying on her countrymen abroad. Some such news did
get about, there was no doubt of that; she had felt vaguely conscious
of it sometimes, or was it the merest fancy? At any rate there had
been no certainty, and certainty there must not be, for Madame
Demidoff loved her life, the gay, glittering court life, with the
admiration her beauty and wealth aroused, and the friendships her
bright wit and fascinating manner attracted around her.
Her profession? Ah! as to that, English readers, try not to be too
severe. Russia is a great, but hard mistress, who demands of all her
children, work according to their means and ability. The word spy has
an ugly meaning with us, we loathe it, if applied to a man, and cannot
even conceive it as an attribute to a young and gifted woman. But in
Russia, where all round an absolute monarchy a web of intrigue and
conspiracy is woven, where blows are aimed and dealt at the head of
the State from every quarter of the Empire, from every class of
society, and always from the dark, these blows must be met with
counter-blows of the same nature, secret, swift, and dark. An enemy,
hidden behind every pillar of a palace, can but be fought by means as
secret as his own. Russia employs them to protect herself and her
autocratic ruler: blame the system if you will, and then try to pity
its often unwilling servants.
Madame Demidoff never allowed herself to reflect as to whether her
calling was worthy of praise or blame, she served her country to the
best of her ability, and continued coquetting with the world, whilst
daily risking its contempt.
However, on this occasion, fate evidently meant to be kind; the moment
she heard his Eminence recount the interesting history of the
Emperor’s candlesticks, her bright wit had laid itself out for a means
to obtain possession of those mysterious receptacles. In a few moments
the Cardinal would be back with his precious burden, and surely she
had carried through more difficult bits of diplomacy, than that of
inducing the Nuncio to entrust her with the mission of conveying the
candlesticks across to Petersburg.
This report, merely a matter of a few notes, taken by herself from
Eugen’s scanty account of the Tsarevitch’s disappearance, would lie
easily concealed in the secret receptacle. It was not much, but as, no
doubt, it would reach the government sooner than any communication
from the conspirators, it might be of some value. Madame Demidoff,
well versed as she was in matters of this sort, felt convinced that
the Tsarevitch’s abduction must have been carried through with a view
to making some imperious demands, whilst he was a hostage in the
conspirators’ hands. She arrived very near the truth, whilst thinking
the matter over, and felt at the same time how helpless the Russian
police, nay, the Tsar himself, would be, whilst Nicholas was a hidden
prisoner.
That Count Lavrovski, who had been--perhaps innocently--very much to
blame in allowing his charge to slip through his fingers, would
endeavour to recover his traces, by every possible and impossible
means, there was certainly no doubt. Viennese detectives were known
throughout Europe for their astuteness, and, moreover, a man like this
Furet would not arouse the suspicions of the plotters, in the way that
an agent of the Russian Government would. But Madame Demidoff had set
her resolute mind the task of being the chief instrument in unmasking
the daring conspiracy. She knew what high value her government set on
her powers, and this was the greatest opportunity she had ever had of
showing how worthy she was of their trust.
She was an absolutely fearless woman. While engaged in the fulfilment
of her duties, any danger to her personal safety at the hands of
revengeful plotters, held no place in her thoughts; but there was the
weak point in her armour--was there ever human nature without such a
point?--and that weakness lay in her intense dread of being branded
before the world, before all the friends she had made, as a spy.
The name gave her a shudder, when, as it were, it stood up and rose
before her, as it had done that terrible time on the frontier, when
the catastrophe seemed imminent, and the bare thought of hearing it
whispered round her, by those who had held it an honour to be counted
among her guests, was at times overpoweringly intolerable.
Perhaps in the pride of the woman of society, dreading to be forced to
step down from her pedestal, there was much of that deeply-hidden
sentiment, that changed this worldly politician into a mere woman at
times; the sentiment that invariably brought into her eyes that look
of wistful tenderness, which she so rarely allowed to dwell therein.
Perhaps when she thought of the exalted and high-born friends, who
would turn their backs with scorn on the paid spy of the Russian
police, did she dwell lingeringly on the one friend, the dreamy,
aristocratic young Pole, who thought, alas! so little of her now, but
who would scorn her, oh! so completely, then.
But now, if only fate favoured her but a little longer, if she
succeeded in inducing the Cardinal to allow her to take the
candlesticks over herself to Petersburg, she need not have the
slightest fear of discovery. She had looked through the papers, the
reports she wished to take; if the secret receptacles were as his
Eminence had described them, she could defy the most meddlesome
officials on her perilous journey across the frontier.
She heard once more the rumble of wheels; his Eminence’s carriage was
stopping under the portico. A hasty glance at her mirror reassured her
that no trace of either agitation or sentiment was visible on her
face. Relighting a cigarette, she once more lounged back in her
_causeuse_, and when three minutes later his Eminence entered,
carrying his precious burden, he could read naught but ardent
curiosity in his fascinating hostess’ expressive eyes.
With her dainty fingers she helped him to undo the numerous wrappings
which Iván Volenski, so little while ago, had so trustingly wrapped
round the valuable _bibelots_.
The enthusiasm of the connoisseur was apparently boundless, and Madame
Demidoff was untiring in the praises she bestowed on the charming
_bibelots_.
“But, oh dear me!” she sighed, “how brittle!”
“Not so brittle as you may imagine,” said his Eminence, “for, after
all, these candlesticks are some three hundred years old, and they
must have been handled by scores of hands, and are still in perfect
condition.”
“Not _quite_ perfect, I think,” she replied, “for see! this one little
Cupid has his arm sadly chipped from wrist to elbow.”
“Oh, _mon Dieu_!” said his Eminence, “I do hope this has been done
before, and not since, I have had charge of these inconvenient things.
I assure you, _chère madame_, they are a source of constant anxiety
to me, ever since his Majesty forced them into my hands. Pray, do
allow me to place the damaged candlestick on one side, or perhaps you
will extend your kindness by wrapping it up once more in its
coverings. I dare not touch it for fear of damaging it further, and
can show you the secret spring in the other, for they are both alike.”
Tenderly, as if it were a child, his Eminence, with Madame Demidoff’s
help, had wrapped the damaged candlestick up in its many coverings
once more, and had carefully placed it on one side. And now the fair
Russian was eagerly watching the Cardinal’s fingers as he pressed on
the tiny gold leaf, and explained to her the mysteries of the secret
spring and the hidden receptacle, so complete, so perfect, so
absolutely free from any possibility of detection. Madame Demidoff
could ill conceal her excitement, and she nerved herself now to the
task, the intricate bit of diplomacy that still lay before her.
“Ah!” she said at last, “no wonder your Eminence feels nervous and ill
at ease with such fragile things in your keeping. You have no idea how
careless the custom-house officials and railway porters are in
Austria, with boxes and valises belonging to men. With ladies’ things,
I notice, they are much more careful, for they fear the consequences
of a crushed gown, or a torn piece of lace.”
“You absolutely give me the shudders, _chère madame_,” said his
Eminence. “I declare my life will be a perfect misery until the happy
moment when they are safe in the Princess Marïonoff’s hands, let
alone the fact of my bitter disappointment in having to forego my
long-projected holiday.”
Madame Demidoff was still attentively examining the pretty _bibelots_,
as she said playfully--
“Would your Eminence really care to give up the chance of being
Cupid’s messenger?”
“If I only knew the way to do that, _chère madame_, how gladly would
I do it.”
“Well, then, your Eminence shall see what a good friend I am to you. I
will take charge of this parcel for you while you are on your holiday,
and I promise you it shall be as safe with me as it ever was at the
Hofburg.”
“You, madame?”
“Yes. I was starting for Petersburg to-night, as you know, and if you
like I will take the candlesticks with me, packed up among my best
court gowns and laces; then, if you wish, I will either leave them at
the Marïonoff palace with your card, or keep them until your arrival,
if you prefer to deliver them actually yourself.”
“Madame! you are a thousand times too kind,” said his Eminence
hesitatingly. “I really hardly like to take you at your word, and
yet----”
“It would relieve you of a great anxiety, is it not so? and, moreover,
will leave you free to start on your incognito travel, and not to
disappoint those who wished to accompany you,” she added archly,
noting how ready his Eminence was to yield.
“Ah, madame, do not tempt me, lest I might accept,” he said, still
resisting for form’s sake.
“Say no more about it then, and accept my friendly offer as it was
meant,” she said, as, with a charming gesture, she stretched out her
hand towards the Cardinal, who gallantly kissed the tips of her dainty
fingers.
“How can I thank you, _chère madame_?” he said with an unmistakable
sigh of relief, as he finally gave in to her kind persuasion.
“By telling me all the latest scandals about my best friends,” she
said laughingly, settling herself once more comfortably in her
luxurious arm-chair.
The victory was gained, and for the next half-hour his Eminence’s
sprightly conversation helped her to forget the agitations of the
evening. He finally took his leave, leaving the _bibelots_ that had
caused him so much annoyance safely in her charge; and it was agreed
that Madame Demidoff would take care of them until his Eminence’s
return from Carlsbad, when he would hand them over himself to the
Princess Marïonoff.
Thus it was that her diplomatic gifts had once more stood her in good
stead; and, what she considered the safest possible hiding-place for
her reports, was now in her possession to make use of as she wished.
It was getting late, and she was more resolved than ever to leave
Vienna this very night, lest his Eminence might change his mind on the
morrow and rob her once more of her precious charge. She collected the
notes she had recently made, together with a few other papers,
containing her various reports to the Third Section; and,
unconsciously imitating Volenski’s actions, she touched the secret
spring and slipped the documents into the velvet-lined receptacle
within the shaft of the candlestick. Safe they were, of that there was
no doubt. She carefully packed up the precious _bibelots_ in their
numerous wrappings, wrote on the outside covering in bold letters:
“The property of his Eminence Cardinal d’Orsay--China--Very fragile,”
then took the parcel up with her, and put it away in her valise.
An hour later, accompanied by her maid who carried the fateful burden,
she drove away to the Nordbahn, _en route_ for St. Petersburg.
At about the same time Iván Volenski, hearing the Cardinal’s
footsteps in the rooms below, knocked at his Eminence’s door to
inquire if he would require his services again that night.
“Come in, Iván,” said the Cardinal in highly elated tones; “this time
it is good news I have to impart to you. We shall both have our
holiday, my son; and I start for Carlsbad to-morrow.”
Iván stared at his Eminence in complete astonishment.
“But… what about the candlesticks?” he asked breathlessly.
“Ah! that is the delightful piece of luck that has happened,”
explained his Eminence. “Madame Demidoff, who is herself going to
Petersburg to-morrow, has consented to take the tiresome things over
for me, and to keep them in her charge until my return from Carlsbad.
I fetched them away myself this evening, and I am thankful to say the
responsibility of travelling with those brittle things is safely off
my shoulders.”
Volenski had become deathly pale.
“Madame Demidoff… the candlesticks…” he gasped. “I do not
understand----”
“Why, my friend, don’t look so scared. I was showing the _bibelots_ to
madame, and quite casually mentioned that I was somewhat disappointed
at having, on their account, to give up a long-expected holiday: so
she very kindly offered to take the candlesticks over to Petersburg
for me, which offer I gladly accepted; and you see me with a burden
less on my mind.”
Volenski was vainly trying to regain his composure.
“And did your Eminence show Madame Demidoff the secrets of the
candlesticks?” he asked breathlessly.
“I really do not remember,” said his Eminence. “I daresay I did; but
you seem very anxious about the matter. I don’t understand the
reason.”
“My anxiety is entirely in your Eminence’s interest; my fear is lest
the candlesticks are really safe in a lady’s keeping.”
“Is that all?” said his Eminence somewhat drily, and darting a quick
glance from his penetrating eyes at Volenski, who bore the scrutiny
bravely. “You may set your mind at rest then. _I_ consider the
candlesticks quite safe, my dear Volenski. So now good-night. I start
early to-morrow morning. You will, I am afraid, have to stay another
day longer, in order to see to the correspondence; but after that your
time is your own, till we meet at Petersburg on the 3rd of next month.
Good-night, my son.”
Volenski bowed low before the Cardinal, and, more dead than alive, he
reached the quietness of his own room, where he could collect his
thoughts and view the immediate future.
That the peril was deadly, that after this at any hour, any moment,
the blow might fall, he realised in one moment.
All the papers relating to their plot--so carefully planned, so
daringly executed--the draft of their manifesto to be placed by
Taranïew in the Tsar’s hands, documents which in most cases bore the
names of the conspirators, and which would send them, one and all, if
discovered, to Siberia or to death, all were contained in the secret
receptacle of one of the candlesticks, that even now were in Madame
Demidoff’s hands. All that required no reflection; they were hard,
undeniable facts.
What _did_ need serious thinking--as the catastrophe had by some
extraordinary stroke of good luck so far been averted--was how to ward
it off successfully.
In the first place, it was quite evident that so far the papers were
safe.
The Cardinal and Madame Demidoff had seen nothing; either his Eminence
forgot or forbore to show the lady the secret spring, or, having done
so, he happened to have used the candlestick that did not contain the
secret papers. But women are naturally curious, fond of toying with
trifles, and any moment---- Volenski’s thoughts refused to travel
further; the consequences were too appalling. And then again, should
he warn his comrades at once of the catastrophe? own to them that the
trust they had placed in him he had even the first day betrayed? Would
that serve any purpose? What could they do, even if they knew the
worst, but calmly await events? For wherever they went, however they
hid, it would be impossible to escape the far-reaching arm of the
Russian police. No; far better let them remain in blissful ignorance
for a time; if the blow was to fall they would know their fate soon
enough.
Hour after hour the young Pole sat, his head buried in his hands,
trying to think of some plan, some means of intercepting those
candlesticks, of robbing Madame Demidoff; but how?--how?
All night he paced up and down his room; it was broad daylight before
he fell into a troubled sleep, and in his dream chains were on his
wrists, he and most of his comrades were tramping through a dreary
desert of snow towards the distant mines of Eastern Siberia, where
death awaits the exile--certain, creeping death, a lingering torture
that sometimes lasts three entire years.