"Ah! I see, _caro mio_," he laughed. "Your thoughts are similar to
mine--eh? These plots are a little too frequent to be genuine," and,
lowering his voice to a whisper, he added: "I can't understand how His
Majesty does not see through the transparency of it. They are
terrorising him every day--every hour. A man of less robust physique or
mental balance would surely be driven out of his mind."
"I agree with you entirely, my dear friend. But," I added, "this is not
the place to discuss affairs of State. Ah, Madame!" and turning, I bent
over the gloved hand of old Madame Neilidoff, one of the leaders of
Society in Moscow, with whom I stood chatting for a long time, and who
kindly invited me for a week out at her great country estate at Sukova
in Tver.
Captain Stoyanovitch, gay with decorations, hurried past me on some
errand for the Emperor, and gave me a nod as he went on, while young
Bertram Tucker, our third secretary, came up and began to chat with the
yellow-toothed old lady, who was such a power in the Russian social
circle.
I suppose it must have been nearly two o'clock, when, after wandering
through the _salons_, greeting many men and women I knew, I suddenly
heard a voice behind me exclaim in English:
"Hulloa, old Uncle Colin! Am I too small to be recognised?"
I turned quickly and confronted the pretty laughing girl of nineteen of
whom I had been in search all the night--Her Imperial Highness the Grand
Duchess Natalia Olga Nicolaievna.
Tall, slim, with a perfect figure, she was dressed in cream, a light
simple gown which suited her youth and extreme beauty admirably. Across
her dark, well-dressed hair she wore a narrow band of forget-me-nots; at
her throat was a large single emerald of great value, suspended by a
fine chain of platinum, a present from His Majesty, while on the edge of
her low-cut corsage she wore a bow of pale-blue ribbon embroidered in
silver with a Russian motto, and from it was suspended a medallion set
with diamonds and bearing in the centre the enamelled figure of Saint
Catherine--the exclusive Order of Saint Catherine bestowed upon the
Grand Duchesses.
"How miserable you look, Uncle Colin!" exclaimed the dark-eyed girl
before I could reply. "Whatever is the matter? Is the British Lion
sick--or what?"
"I really must apologise to Your Imperial Highness," I said, bowing. "I
was quite unaware that I looked miserable. I surely could never look
miserable in your presence."
We both laughed, while standing erect and defiant, before me she held up
a little ivory fan, threatening to chastise me with it.
"Well," I said, "and so you are safely back again in Petersburg, after
all your travels! Why, it's surely eight weeks since we were at the
ball at the Palace of your uncle, the Grand Duke Serge."
"Where you danced with me. Do you remember how we laughed? You said
some nasty sarcastic things, so I punished you. I told Captain
Stoyanovitch and some of the others that you had flirted with me and
kissed me. So there!"