“THIS DUEL MUST NOT BE”
Wilfrid’s statement that he would face the Czar in duel was no boast, but
who should be his second?
Having no very high opinion of the Czar’s honour, Wilfrid considered it
advisable to have a friendly witness to see fair play. But who would care
to be his companion in a venture so perilous? He rapidly ran over in his
mind the limited circle of friends, or rather of acquaintances, he had
made in St. Petersburg, and knew full well there was not one upon whose
spirit he could rely. Second the Czar’s adversary! The very idea would
take away their breath.
Without knowing it he had stopped short before the French Embassy, a fact
of which he was made aware by observing a covered carriage whose panels
bore the armorial device of the Marquis de Vaucluse.
A moment afterwards the French Ambassador appeared, descending the steps
of his mansion.
“Ah!” murmured Wilfrid, an idea striking him. “Perhaps M. de Vaucluse can
recommend a man bold enough to act as my second.”
The Marquis, about to step into his carriage, stopped on seeing Wilfrid,
and advanced with outstretched hand.
“I must apologise,” said Wilfrid, “for returning from the masquerade
without the Baroness, but a grave event has called me away. Can you
favour me with a word in private?”
De Vaucluse led the way into the entrance hall, and thence into a small
cabinet.
“To be brief, Monsieur, I have been challenged to a duel. It is to take
place within four hours, and at some distance from St. Petersburg. At so
short a notice I have a difficulty in finding a second, especially as I
have but few friends in this city. Can you recommend a gentleman, one of
resolute courage, inasmuch as my adversary is a high political personage?”
“Supposing that I cannot name one?”
“In that case I must proceed alone.”
“That shall not be. It shall never be said that a _seigneur_ of old
France was lacking in chivalry. Permit me to have the honour.”
“The honour is mine; but will you not be compromising your own character
as ambassador?”
“Hasn’t Pauline told you what has happened? No? France has at the present
moment no representative in St. Petersburg. Two weeks ago I forwarded
my resignation to the Consulate. It was accepted, and my successor will
arrive within a few days. My resignation,” he continued in answer to
Wilfrid’s look of inquiry, “has no connection with politics. It has been
made on purely personal grounds. I desire Pauline to leave Russia, and I
see no other way of accomplishing my end than by leaving it myself.”
While speaking he glanced keenly at Wilfrid, as if to mark the effect of
his words, and seemed to derive satisfaction from Wilfrid’s blank look;
for, the Princess excepted, there was no one in St. Petersburg whom
Wilfrid liked better than Pauline, and therefore he heard the news with
deep regret.
“Your offer to be my second is extremely generous, but you will do well
to refrain till you shall have heard the name of my adversary.”
“A _seigneur_ of France knows not fear. I am your second whoever be
your adversary. A high political personage? Humph! One of the Czar’s
ministers, I suppose?”
“Higher than a minister.”
“_Ciel!_ Surely not a Grand Duke?”
“Higher than a Grand Duke.”
The Marquis looked hard at Wilfrid.
“There is no one higher than a Grand Duke except the Czar.”
“Incredible as it may appear, my adversary _is_ the Czar!”
The Marquis showed surprise, yet that surprise was not so great as
Wilfrid had expected. There was about him an air of satisfaction, as if
he were pleased at the situation.
“With what weapons do you fight?”
“With swords.”
“And you are deadly with the sword, I understand,” said the Marquis. “As
most duels are caused by a lady,” he went on, “I presume yours is no
exception to the rule?”
“No exception.”
He begged for a little light on the matter, and Wilfrid accordingly gave
a hurried account of the events that had brought him into connection
with the Princess Marie, making no mention, however, of the compromising
adventure at the Silver Birch. The Marquis was deeply interested, and—a
puzzling point to Wilfrid—even pleased. He seemed to brighten more and
more as the story reached its climax.
“I thought I was well acquainted with all the personalities of the
Russian court,” he remarked at the close of Wilfrid’s narration, “but I
must confess that this Princess Marie is to me an unknown person. And the
duel is to be to the death?”
“So said the Czar.”
“Then I hope you will kill him!”
“Monsieur!” said Wilfrid, surprised at the vehemence of the other’s
utterance.
“I hope,” repeated the Marquis, slowly emphasising each word,
“that—you—will—kill—him!”
“You have suffered a wrong at his hand?”
“Not yet, but it is certain to come if his life continue. It were better
for—for some of us that he were dead. Therefore, as I have said, I hope
you will kill him.”
“He mayn’t give me the opportunity,” smiled Wilfrid. “Should I find
myself his superior, I shall just show him what I _could_ do with his
life if I chose; but as to killing him, what would Paul—the Baroness
say if I were to slay the Czar? Is he not her hero? But, monsieur, on
reflection I will ask you to withdraw from this affair. Though Alexander
may pardon my wounding him his ministers may not prove so chivalrous.
Should the Czar be brought home injured there will be a hue and cry for
his assailants. Why should I imperil your life as well as my own?”
“In asking me to be your second you have conferred a high honour upon
me. This affair is certain to be famous. We shall live in history—you
and I. You see,” he went on with a smile, “that vanity has something to
do with my motives. Now, as your second, let me urge you to leave St.
Petersburg at once, lest your uncle or Panine should communicate this
matter to the police. The Czar they dare not meddle with, but they would
not hesitate to seize his opponent. Did you tell your uncle the place of
the rendezvous? You did not? And Panine does not know it? Good! Set off
this minute. Take my carriage; it is drawn by my two fleetest horses. A
little beyond the eighth verst-post you say? Ah! that is very fortunate,
since near that same verst-post, but on this side of it, lives Ruric,
the charcoal burner. He is one of Pauline’s freed serfs. You have but to
mention her name, and there is nothing he will not do to serve you.”
“I do not understand.”
“To meet the Czar you must be near the rendezvous, but not too near.”
“Why so?”
“Supposing the secret of the rendezvous has become known, what more
likely than that a band of Cossacks will be despatched to the spot to
carry you off before the Czar arrives? Now this Ruric resides a little
way past the seventh verst-post in a hut not visible from the road, which
at this point is bordered on both sides by dense forest. He dwells on the
left side of the road; the appointed glade, you say, is on the right.
While you remained concealed within his hut, he can reconnoitre for you
without exciting suspicion. Should he report the presence of police or
soldiers, you will know that you have been betrayed, in which case you
will do well not to show yourself. As for me, I will join you later, not
leaving the city till the last moment to mark if anything suspicious
takes place. When you are passing the seventh verst-post Ivor will drive
the carriage close to the trees, and when opposite the path spring out
without stopping the carriage, and by following the path you’ll come to
the hut. Meanwhile, the carriage will drive on, returning to the city
by a circuitous route, so that should any mounted spies be following,
they’ll be thrown off the scent. For the present, farewell, and good
fortune attend you.”
With that the Marquis wrung Wilfrid’s hand and accompanied him to the
door, and having first taken a precautionary glance along the street he
pushed Wilfrid into the carriage.
“I am unarmed, monsieur,” observed Wilfrid. “A sword would be——”
“No, no! Don’t play into the enemy’s hand. They’ll do no hurt to a nephew
of the British Ambassador if you yield quietly. But offer resistance, and
that’ll be a convenient excuse for putting a bullet through your head.
Your single sword will be no match for a dozen carbines.”
He whispered a few words of instruction in the driver’s ear, and Ivor set
off at the furious gallop common to all Muscovite coachmen.
“So he intends merely to wound him,” murmured De Vaucluse as he walked
slowly back to the cabinet. “Ah, but accidents may happen! It were better
for Pauline that he were dead. It is the only way to save her from——”
The sound of light footsteps came tripping along outside the cabinet, and
the next moment his daughter appeared.
On seeing her father Pauline sprang forward to kiss him. Full of a
pleasurable excitement, she did not notice that he gave her but a cold
reception.
“Ah! _mon père_, why were you not at the masquerade to-night to witness
my triumph? See, I bring home the tiara given as the prize for the
daintiest costume. Do I not look beautiful?” she added, placing the
ornament upon her dark hair and glancing with pardonable pride at her
image in the mirror.
“’Twere better if you were less beautiful!”
There was in his words an intonation that caused Pauline to look hard at
him as if she were trying to read his thoughts. He returned her look, and
for a few moments they stood gazing at each other.
Pauline did not, however, seem at all disconcerted.
“_Mon père_, how grave you are! I will show you by and by that you have
reason for joy.”
“Pauline, my mind is made up. Within a few hours we set out for Lovisa.”
“Lovisa! In Finland?”
“And thence to Sweden. You and I are leaving St. Petersburg for ever.”
“For ever! That is a long time, _mon père_, especially when I have the
best reason in the world for remaining in Russia.”
“Your reason—I know it well—for remaining is the very reason that induces
me to remove you.”
A smile of triumph appeared on her lips.
“I fear that you misapprehend the situation. Nay, I am sure you do. When
you hear all I have to say you will change your mind.”
“Nothing that you can say will induce me to change my mind. You will set
out first; I will follow later. Lord Courtenay will perhaps accompany us:
at least, I will do my best to persuade him. It will not be safe for him
to remain any longer in Russia.”
“Why, what new piece of mischief has that knight-errant been doing?”
“This morning at eight o’clock he commits the most daring deed of his
life.”
Pauline elevated her pretty eyebrows in surprise.
“A daring deed! He did not tell me of it to-night. You are more in his
confidence than I am. You have a story to tell, is it not so? Eh, _bien_,
tell it me. See, I am listening. I am, as the English say, all ears.”
“Had you returned two minutes earlier you would have met Lord Courtenay.”
“What! has he been here?”
“He was in this room with a story that should interest you—you, perhaps,
more than any other person,” said her father drily. “At the masquerade
Lord Courtenay chanced to meet a certain lady.”
“I was hoping that he would.”
“A lady whose true name he has never been able to learn.”
“Her reticence on that point is a high tribute to his sense of virtue.
She knows very well that on his hearing it he would have no more to do
with her.”
“What! you know this lady?”
“My enemy. Siberia would now be my home could she have her way.”
“Who is she?”
“That’s a surprise I’ll keep in reserve. You shall learn by and by.
Continue your story, _mon père_.”
“Do you know that this lady is loved by Alexander?”
“You should put that remark in the past tense,” said Pauline with an odd
smile.
“This favourite of the Czar was so gracious as to bestow a kiss upon Lord
Courtenay, and, unfortunately for her, the Czar himself witnessed the
act.”
Pauline laughed softly.
“The very result desired by me,” she said.
“You are pleased. Yes, I can quite comprehend your motive in wishing that
this lady should forfeit the Czar’s regard. You will not find the sequel
so pleasing. The Czar and Lord Courtenay came to words.”
“Over the lady! Strange, when matters were taking a course acceptable to
all three! And I suppose that Lord Courtenay, so bold before Paul, was
equally bold with Paul’s son?”
“He did not know at the time that he was speaking to Paul’s son, since
Alexander would neither remove his mask nor disclose his identity. But
Lord Courtenay has learned his name since.”
“And what was the end of the affair?”
“The end comes this morning at eight, when the Czar and Lord Courtenay
cross swords!”
In a moment Pauline’s airy manner was gone. She rose from her seat,
trembling in every limb, but sank down again apparently powerless.
“A duel!” she gasped.
“To the death! Such is Alexander’s determination.”
“A duel!” she repeated in hollow tones. “Between those two! Oh, it can’t
be! You say this to frighten me. Emperors don’t fight duels.”
“Alexander acted, perhaps, on the spur of the moment in giving a
challenge to the finest swordsman of the day, but having given it he will
keep his word.”
“Lord Courtenay must be persuaded to withdraw.”
“Pshaw! As well bid the sun not shine! That his opponent is the Czar
lends added zest to the fight.”
Pauline shuddered.
“He dare not kill the Czar.”
“Not purposely, perhaps, but in the hot excitement of——”
“Speak the truth, _mon père_,” interrupted Pauline with an indignant flash
of her eyes. “Say that you are hoping to see the Czar killed!”
“That _is_ my hope.”
“Why?”
“Can _you_ ask why?” returned the Marquis. “To preserve the honour of
Pauline de Vaucluse. And that is the reason why I, her father, am acting
as Lord Courtenay’s second. Can he have a more suitable one?”
“Your daughter’s honour was never at hazard,” said Pauline haughtily,
rising to her full stature and facing her father. “Do you think that I
would ever consent to become the Czar’s mistress? You doubt my word, I
see.”
Taking from her bosom a small scroll of parchment, she unfolded it, and
held it before the eyes of the Marquis.
“Perhaps this will convince you. Here you have the reason why I have
consorted so much with Alexander.”
The Marquis took the scroll in both hands, which trembled with suppressed
agitation. Though there was not much writing on the scroll he had to read
it several times before he could grasp its meaning. And when at last its
meaning _was_ grasped, his face wore a ghastly smile, the half-believing,
half-sceptical smile of the pauper, when suddenly told that he is heir to
stores of gold.
“You see what a traitress I have been to your diplomatic policy? But you
forgive me, _mon père_; is it not so? You give up Bonaparte from this day
henceforth. The Bourbons must be your friends now as they once were.”
“Can this be true?” murmured the Marquis hoarsely, lifting his eyes from
the document to his daughter’s face.
“There is the signature. You have seen it many a time, and should know
whether it is genuine.”
Bewildered, the Marquis sank upon a sofa. A new feeling stole over him as
he contemplated his beautiful daughter—a feeling of admiration bordering
upon awe.
“Then,” said he, “who on earth is the lady whom Lord Courtenay met at the
masquerade?”
“Did you say that Lord Courtenay has been here?”
“Yes.”
“In this room?”
“Nowhere else.”
“And didn’t notice that?” said Pauline, pointing to a lady’s portrait
hanging upon the wall.
“My God!” gasped the Marquis, more startled than ever. “Is _that_ the
lady?”
“None other. Now you see why this duel must not be.”