_ONE EVENING._
Madame Scholaskie’s rooms were on a side street in an apartment house,
which was in striking contrast to the house on the Nevsky, where fifty
or sixty servants had done their mistress’ bidding. There seemed to be
but one here, a woman wrinkled and old, but straight as an arrow, with a
keen look in her eyes as if she were always on the alert and ready for
whatever might come. The Scholaskies’ rooms were on the third floor, and
surprised us with their handsome furnishings, from the golden-framed
_icon_ to the ivy-covered screen which shut off one end of the salon.
Madame, too, was a surprise, as, with her snow-white hair, her piercing,
black eyes, and faded, velvet gown, which told of better days, she came
forward to greet us. If not an aristocrat, as the Russians understand
the term, she was a lady born, and showed it in her manner, her language
and her voice.
Supper was announced soon after our arrival, and, if there were not many
courses, it had been daintily cooked, and was served by old Drusa with
the deftness of a younger person. Everything was perfect, from the linen
to the silver and china.
When supper was over, and we returned to the drawing room, where we had
tea, madame took from her pocket a paper, yellow and worn, and, holding
it toward me, said:
“You sent me this three years ago.”
I recognized it as the note I had written for the beggar, and answered
in the affirmative.
“But how do you know I am the one who sent it?” I asked.
“Your nephew let it out in the train, and Sophie told me. She
telegraphed me that you were coming, and I sent some flowers for you to
the hotel. I hope you received them? They are sometimes careless in such
matters.”
“I never knew who sent them, and I thank you so much,” I said.
After a moment, madame continued:
“I run no risk in telling you that the man you befriended was my
husband, and a nihilist, who had long eluded detection. He was fond of
disguises. I think it is in the family,” and her eyes rested for a
moment on Sophie, who stood with her back to her mother. “That of a
beggar was his favorite, and had done him good service many times, but
failed him at the last. He was arrested and tried, and sent to Siberia,
where he died within three months. His father, who lived with us, did
not long survive him, and we were left alone. He had spent a great deal
of money for the cause he believed to be right. Our house on the Nevsky
was heavily mortgaged. We lost it, and came here. It is a special
Providence which has thrown you in my way, to thank you for your
kindness to him. I try to be cheerful, but I know we are living over a
volcano, which may engulf us at any time.”
“But what harm can come to you, living here alone?” I asked.
Before she could reply, Sophie said:
“None whatever. She is nervous, and has been so ever since they took my
father away. It has a different effect on me. It makes me—— But why talk
about it? Do you all play cards?”
She turned to Jack, who, knowing the Russian habit, answered:
“Yes; but not for money, as you do.”
“I know. You play for fun. Then let it be fun; Drusa, bring the table!”
[Illustration: “DRUSA HAD OPENED THE DOOR AND A TALL GENDARME ENTERED
THE ROOM.”]
Madame would not play, and I took her place, with Katy for my partner,
and Jack and Sophie for our opponents. Sophie was an expert player, and
chafed a little under Jack’s blunders. But, on the whole, we were
getting on very well, and Sophie was dealing for the third hand, when
old Drusa came in, unannounced, twisting her apron in her hands, and
standing with her back to the door, as if to keep some one out.
“What is it, Drusa?” madame asked, and her voice shook a little.
“There is an officer here, asking to see you,” Drusa replied, in a
whisper, which, nevertheless, seemed to me to fill the room from corner
to corner with its dread meaning.
For an instant madame’s face blanched to the color of a corpse, and
there was a look of anguish in her eyes, as she glanced at her daughter.
“An officer to see me! What does he want?” she whispered, for I was sure
she could not speak aloud.
Sophie was perfectly calm, except for the hard expression on her face
and the defiant look in her eyes.
“Don’t whisper,” she said, loud enough to be heard by anyone outside the
door, if he were listening. “We have nothing to fear from a hundred
officers. Show him in!”
“Oh, Sophie!” her mother gasped, but she was too late.
Drusa had opened the door, and a tall gendarme entered the room, briskly
at first, with an air of assurance, but stopping short when his eyes
fell on me.
“Michel Seguin!” I exclaimed, in what seemed to me a whisper, but he
heard me, and the expression of his face changed to one of perplexity,
as if his next step was hard to take.
“Miss Harding!” he replied, with more surprise than pleasure in his
voice. “I heard you were in the city, but did not expect to meet you
here. How came you here to-night, of all places?”
He had given me his hand, and was standing close to Jack, who looked at
him in wonder, not understanding what it all meant.
“And why shouldn’t she be here, may I ask?” Sophie proudly demanded.
“What is there here to contaminate her, that you lay such emphasis on
it?”
The officer did not answer her. He was evidently nerving himself to do
his duty, and turning to madame, who sat like one dead, he said:
“I did not know you had company; I would have waited, in that case, for
what I come to do will be exceedingly unpleasant to Miss Harding. I am
sent here to arrest your son, Ivan Scholaskie, for aiding and abetting
in a plot which we have been trying to unearth for some time.”
Again that corpselike pallor spread over madame’s face, and, drawing
herself up, with a regal air, she replied:
“When my son last wrote me, he was in Paris. You will have to seek him
there.”
“He might have been in Paris when he last wrote you, but at twelve
o’clock last night and the night before he was seen coming from a
suspected quarter, and he entered this house. It is my duty to search
for him, although, I assure you, I am sorry to give you trouble, and
before your friends, too.”
He looked at me in an apologetic kind of way, as if he wished himself
anywhere but there. I was horrified, and trembled like a leaf; while
Katy and Jack, although they could not understand what was said, knew
something was wrong, and looked anxiously at me. I explained, in a few
words, whereat Jack eyed the gendarme scowlingly, clinching his fist
once, as if ready to fight, if necessary. Sophie alone was calm,
although her face was pale and there was a bluish look around her lips.
She had turned up the ace of spades, and was adjusting her cards, as if
nothing unusual were happening.
“Let him search! You can’t prevent it,” she said to her mother. “But, as
I have a good hand and want to play it, there’s no reason why we should
not go on with our game, unless you wish to look under the table first!”
This to the gendarme, as, with her large, white hand she swept aside the
folds of her dress, disclosing nothing worse than four pairs of feet
huddled together in a small space, for the table was not a large one.
Sophie’s eyes blazed with scorn as they rested on the gendarme, who must
have been impressed with her beauty. She had never looked handsomer than
she did that night, in her dress of crimson satin and velvet, which
fitted her perfectly. It was trimmed with knots of old lace here and
there. A small diamond pin was the only ornament she wore. Her ears had
never been pierced, and there were no rings on her fingers, at which I
wondered a little, for her hands, though large, were white and
well-shaped, and showed no signs of work.
Regarding her fixedly for a moment, while a peculiar smile flitted
across his face, the gendarme said:
“Allow me, mademoiselle, to say that Paris agrees with you. I have never
seen you looking better. You must have gained a good many pounds in that
gay city. The last time I had the pleasure of meeting you, you were not
as stout as you are now.”
It was a strange speech, and I rather resented it. Sophie did not deign
to reply, but sat with her skirts drawn back, that he might see under
the table.
“I do not think he is there,” he continued; “and, I assure you, I have
no special desire to arrest him, but I must do my duty. Your servant,
perhaps, will take me through the rooms?”
“Certainly,” Sophie replied, mockingly. “I’d do it myself, but, you see,
I am busy. Drusa,” and she turned to the old woman, who all the time had
been standing by the door, with her jaw dropped and her eyes distended.
“Drusa, show this man wherever there is a chance for anyone to be
hiding; but, first, tell me, were you awake at midnight last night?”
“Yes, mademoiselle, wide awake. I mostly am.”
“Did you hear anyone enter the house?”
“No, mademoiselle; I heard footsteps go by; that might have been the man
they tracked and thought was Mr. Ivan.”
“That will do,” Sophie said, motioning Drusa to conduct the gendarme
into the adjoining rooms. “It’s your lead, I believe, and spades are
trumps,” she continued, turning to me. I was shaking so I could scarcely
hold my cards.
“Did you find him?” she asked, mockingly, when the gendarme returned
from a search I knew had been of the most formal kind.
“Not this time, but later on,” he replied, with a look which made her
face nearly the color of her dress.
At this point there came a scratching and pounding at the outer door,
such as I had heard in old Ursula’s room.
“It is Chance,” I said, involuntarily, while Jack sprang up, nearly
upsetting the table in his haste.
“Chance!” he repeated. “I must see him.”
I bade him sit down and be quiet, for it seemed to me that Chance’s
advent into that room would be fraught with evil.
“You did a manly thing to bring your dog to hunt my brother! I would not
have believed it of you!” Sophie said; and the officer replied: “I did
not bring him, nor know that he followed me.”
“Then you will not let him in. I am afraid of dogs,” Sophie continued,
her face now white with terror, as the scratching and whining went on,
and in her eyes there was a piteous appeal.
“No, I will not let him,” said the gendarme. “I think he would knock
Miss Harding down in his delight at seeing her again.”
He looked at me, but I could not reply, except with an inclination of my
head. I had never been so unstrung and nervous in my life.
“Oh, I wish I could see Chance, just for a minute! Can’t I go out?” Jack
pleaded; but I shook my head.
Then the gendarme said to him, speaking in English for the first time:
“I will send him to the hotel to-morrow, or perhaps come with him and
call.”
“That is better,” I said.
Jack, finding that M. Seguin spoke English, started up, exclaiming:
“Look here, you, sir! Auntie has told me you are looking for Miss
Scholaskie’s brother. I tell you he is in Paris, at the Bon Marché. It
is a shame to frighten us so.”
“When did you last see him at the Bon Marché?” Michel asked.
This was a puzzler. Jack had never seen him, but had taken Sophie’s word
for it. He could not tell a lie, and he finally stammered: “He was there
ten days ago, when his sister left Paris. She came in the train with us.
That’s the way we know her.”
“Your argument is very conclusive,” Michel said; “but I still think he
is in this city.”
Again Sophie’s eyes blazed with something more than anger, and there was
a quaver of fear in her voice, as she said:
“Please let me know when you find him.”
“I certainly will,” was his reply, as he bowed politely and left the
room.
Outside, we heard him whistle to Chance, and the two went rapidly down
the walk. We sat silent for a moment. Jack was the first to speak.
“By George!” he exclaimed. “I shall get mixed up in a nihilist scrape,
after all, I do believe—and that is what I wanted.”
“Would you like to be one of the chief actors?” Sophie asked.
“No, sir!” said Jack, emphatically; “and I wonder you could keep so
cool, with that man hunting for your brother.”
“I knew he would not find him,” she said; “I know him, and I once knelt
at his feet, asking permission to see my father before he started for
Siberia, but was denied. Still, he is kind, in his way, they say, and he
was kind to father.”
She tried to smile, but it was forced, as were all her actions after
that. Katy said nothing. She was very pale, and so absent-minded that
she at last threw down her cards, saying she was tired, and wanted to go
home.
As she stood in the dressing room, with her scarlet hood tied under her
chin, Sophie stooped over her, and said:
“May I kiss you once, as a dear, little girl from over the sea, where I
wish to Heaven I had been born?”
I thought Katy hesitated a moment; then she lifted her face for the
kisses Sophie gave her—passionate kisses, such as women seldom give to
each other. Very little was said by either of us on our way home, or
after our return to the hotel. We were puzzled and troubled, and half
wished we had never seen Sophie Scholaskie.
In his journal that night Jack wrote: “Well, sir, I am getting what I
wanted—a sprat with a gendarme.” Then followed a short account of the
“sprat,” and Jack continued: “I was awful mad, but I rather liked the
looks of Mr. Seguin. I wonder if Ivan was in the house? I kind of
believe he was, don’t you?”