"IT WAS NO DELUSION."
At twelve o'clock that day, just as the great fortress cathedral chimes
rang out the hour, repeating again the melody taken from the Eastern
liturgy, "How glorious is our Lord in Sion," Ivor Tolskoi reached the
side-entrance of the Palace court-yard, and, passing between the
saluting sentinels, made his way towards a small door in one side of the
building, before which marched constantly two of the Imperial Guard,
whose business it was to watch jealously all in-going or out-coming
traffic, and who, fully armed as they were, presented a sufficiently
terrifying appearance, even to the most peaceful-minded.
Before this door two open sleighs were standing, their magnificent black
horses handsomely decked out in gold-plated harness, and each wearing a
triangle of gold bells spanning its back, from which the slightest
movement evoked a shower of tinkling notes that fell melodiously, one
after the other, on the frost-bitten air, and were echoed back again by
the high walls of the court-yard. Sumptuous rugs and wraps of the
costliest furs were thrown across the velvet cushions, while the
coachmen and footmen were wrapped in mink-skin capes and tall,
conical-shaped hats.
A short distance ahead of the equipages a selected division of the
Imperial body-guard sat immovable upon their splendid chargers, the
scarlet of their kaftans contrasting finely with the glossy coats of
their steeds and the dazzling snow that lay as a pall of innocence upon
the great metropolis.
Ivor stopped only long enough to return the salute of the captain of the
guard, and to exchange a good-morning with one or two of the others,
who were all well known to him, and then, pressing quickly forward,
entered the Palace by the small door, and made his way to an
ante-chamber, where, as he expected, he found Patouchki already arrived.
The chief's face wore a somewhat troubled expression, which did not
lessen as the young man, shutting the door securely behind him, came up
hurriedly towards him, an answering look of anxiety upon his usually
fresh, insouciant countenance. Patouchki also noticed that his face was
very pale, and his eyes wore a restless, inquiring expression, which was
enhanced by the stern set of his lips. He made no comment until standing
close by Patouchki's side, when he said, abruptly, and almost
commandingly:
"Did you not say that Vladimir Mellikoff had gone upon this mission to
America to track and to arrest the cast-off wife of Stevan Lallovich,
for whose murder the Chancellerie holds her responsible?"
Patouchki, for once taken off his guard, started at this unexpected
address, and turning sharply round so that he faced Tolskoi, looked at
him keenly before he answered. But Ivor never flinched nor faltered; his
cold, light-blue eyes met the chief's black ones full as boldly as they
had ever rested on Olga Naundorff's fair proud face, and something in
their hard cruel light warned Patouchki that the question was no idle
one, but that behind it lay some disturbance unknown at their morning
meeting. He replied in his most repellent manner:
"You have forgotten, Ivor, it seems, that the Chancellerie never makes
decisive affirmations in words. Among us it is unnecessary to name names
or publish identities. Your own rather too vivid imagination has outrun
itself, Ivor, and accredited to Count Mellikoff's absence in the United
States a more sinister motive than could be found in the records of the
Chancellerie. Murder and arrest are two ugly words and have an ugly
sound to ears unaccustomed to them, especially when applied to a
woman."
"Nevertheless, chief," answered Ivor, impatiently, the frown deepening
on his brow, "though you may choose to call Count Mellikoff's mission by
every name under heaven save the right one, you cannot disguise its true
motive. The Chancellerie may wrap itself about with all possible or
impossible plausibilities of expression, there are those who can read
between the lines, and who follow its machinations. Let me beg of you,
chief, by all the months of faithful service I have given you--and they
are many now--to be frank with me in this. Much--you cannot know how
much--depends upon your answer to my question. Can you not yet believe
in my fidelity and trust to my loyalty? Have I proved myself so poor a
Russian? Answer me this, I beg; is it to track and to find Stevan
Lallovich's forsaken wife that Vladimir Mellikoff has gone to America? I
will not press you further as to her share in the murder, or why you
suppose her to have sought refuge there, if you will give me a frank yes
or no to my question; only be quick, I entreat you, our very moments are
numbered!"
Patouchki, who, during Tolskoi's impassioned address, had remained
immovable, his eyes downcast, the lights and shadows on his
strongly-marked face alone revealing his interest and irresolution,
looked up as Ivor's voice dropped into silence, and again fixing his
piercing black eyes on the young man's face, he replied slowly, and with
a hesitancy that sat strangely on his usually assured manner:
"Your words are imperious, Ivor; but it is the imperiousness of youth,
not arrogance, therefore I pass them by unrebuked. As to answering your
question with a short yes or no, that is impossible. There are too many
motives and too many interests mixed up in Count Vladimir's mission for
me to give to you, or any one, so unequivocal a rejoinder. However,
since I do believe in your honesty of purpose, Ivor, and trust your
integrity of action, I will say this much, that one of Count Mellikoff's
objects--the most important if you will have it so--was to seek and to
find the woman who calls herself Count Stevan Lallovich's wife. What
then?"
"Then he will never find her, chief," broke in Tolskoi, "and you and the
Chancellerie are being tricked by him for your pains. Vladimir Mellikoff
may have his own game to play, and his own ends to serve, but finding
and securing Stevan Lallovich's pseudo wife will not be one of them."
He laughed slightly as he finished, and his voice grew scornful again at
the mention of Mellikoff's name.
"What do you mean, Ivor?" exclaimed Patouchki, now thoroughly roused.
"What I say," returned Tolskoi, doggedly, "Vladimir Mellikoff is
deceiving all of you when he pretends to be on the track of that
wretched woman, and you, chief, are blinded by his specious words."
"Have a care, Ivor," cried Patouchki, sternly, "the Chancellerie can
hold you accountable for those words. What proof have you of what you
affirm?"
"The proof of my own eyes," replied Ivor, hotly, "I tell you, chief,
Mellikoff is deceiving you for reasons of his own, for I, this very
morning, since I parted with you, have stood face to face with Adèle
Lamien, who calls herself Adèle Lallovich!"
"You, Ivor, impossible!" cried Patouchki, "you have seen her, and here
in Petersburg, in broad daylight! And where?"
"As I stood within the door of St. Isaac's this morning," answered
Tolskoi, "the mass was just begun, and she had been kneeling--prostrated
I should say--before the statue of our Lady of Kazan. Something familiar
in the lines of her figure struck me even then, and presently as the
_miserere_ bells rang the quarter, she arose and came towards me, her
veil thrown back, the whiteness of her face and the distinctness of her
features thrown out vividly against her black apparel. She passed me
rapidly, pulling down her veil impetuously, as she fled out and down the
steps before I could put out my hand to stop her, and when I reached the
pavement she had disappeared. But I tell you, chief, as I hope to be
saved at the hour of my death, it was the face of Adèle Lallovich into
which I looked for that brief interval."
"Impossible!" again ejaculated Patouchki. "Impossible that she should be
here, in Petersburg, and the Chancellerie remain ignorant of her
arrival. She is a marked woman to all our emissaries, how could she come
and go, without disguise even, and we remain in ignorance? No, no, my
good Ivor, your eyes mislead you this time; with all her arrogant
bravery Adèle Lamien knows better than to put her head in the lion's
jaws, or herself in the power of the Chancellerie."
"I tell you I saw her," repeated Tolskoi, obstinately, "believe me or
not, chief, I saw her, and no other."
"But my dear Ivor," began Patouchki, persuasively, when a groom of the
chambers entered hurriedly, and bidding them make haste, as their
Majesties were even then descending the staircase, cut short the chief's
oratory, and caused both him and Tolskoi to hasten their footsteps
towards the side door, which now stood open with footmen and lacqueys on
either side, holding the fur robes, foot-muffs and wraps of the Imperial
party.
As Ivor and Tolskoi emerged from the side corridor, the Tsarina reached
the entrance and paused a moment for her attendants to clasp the
magnificent cloak of sables about her slight figure. Very sweet and
delicate, and somewhat sad was the face that looked out from the
clinging furs, with a touch of the same melancholy that at times rests
on her English sister's brow, and with more than a similitude of her
gentleness and sympathy. As she crossed the threshold the slightest
possible shrinking or timidity caused her to hesitate for one brief
moment, then she took her place in the Royal equipage, and her face, as
she turned it towards her husband, wore a brave courageous smile.
Poor Tsarina! though wrapped about on every side with all luxury, yet
never to realise the happiness of confidence; never to feel secure, even
in your strictest seclusion; never to know when the cruel bullet, sent
with a fatally true aim, may end your tenure of greatness, and send you
back to your magnificent palace, a heart-broken, lonely widow!
Behind the Empress came the Tsar, dressed, as was often his pleasure, in
the scarlet kaftan of his own guard, and by which he signified his
desire to remain incognito. Following him were Olga Naundorff and the
Emperor's equerry, who, with Patouchki and Ivor, formed the Royal
suite.
The Tsarina in passing had acknowledged Tolskoi's presence by a gracious
recognition, which sent the young man's blood running hotly through his
veins, flushing his face and brightening his eyes. Ivor was every inch
an Imperialist, and he loved his gentle Tsarina Dagmar with a real and
chivalrous devotion; the latent sadness in her eyes and the pathos of
her smile touched the most responsive chords of his cold and selfish
nature, and awoke in him the purest sentiment of his heart.
Olga had caught the Empress's friendly bow to Ivor, and she too relaxed
somewhat the frigid demeanour she had evinced towards him, since their
conversation regarding Count Mellikoff, and flashed upon him one of her
most lovely smiles, as he put out his arm and almost lifted her to her
place in the second sleigh. The Tsar and Tsarina drove alone in the
foremost equipage, preceded and protected on either side by the guard,
while in the second were seated Olga, the equerry, Patouchki, and Ivor.
The gates were flung wide apart, and thus, with the horses prancing, the
bells ringing, to which the clanking swords made a monotonous echo, and
the sun shining, the Royal party crossed the gay boulevard now thronged
with people, and drew up at the grim and frowning archway of Peter's
gloomy fortress.