“this miniature must have been put in the wrong locket. I have two
apprentices, and sometimes, between us all, errors are made.”
“Where, then, is my portrait?” she demanded, fastening her eyes on his
face, as if she meant to read his very soul.
Here, in spite of her rebuke, I interposed, bowing profoundly.
“Pardon me, your highness,” I said blandly; “I think I know where
the picture lies safely at Maître Bastien’s quarters, if we may be
permitted to look for it.”
She turned on me sharply. “You know where it is, then?” she said. “Ah,
I perceive, it was you who had the pear and hid it from the Boyar
Kurakin.”
Saint Denis! it was M. Kurakin then! Like a flash I saw how we had been
betrayed; but how had she got the trinket? There was the riddle.
“The pear was brought for us to mend, madame,” I said simply.
She scowled at me, black as a thunder-cloud; she was far too keen not
to suspect us, but she had no means of pinning us to the wall.
“I am determined to know how this miniature was substituted for mine,”
she said in a more even tone, though her small eyes glittered like two
knife points; “if either of you trifle with me or deceive me, you shall
receive first the _pravezh_ and then----” She drew her hand across her
throat with a significant gesture.
Then, for the first time, Maître le Bastien fully recovered his
composure. Her speech had made my blood boil, and it brought his to his
cheek.
“Serene highness,” he said proudly, “you forget that we are both
Frenchmen, and subjects of the greatest monarch upon earth, his most
Christian Majesty, Louis, King of France, and we are here under the
safe conduct of the Russian government.”
She shot a look at him that defied all law and all authority but her
own; it was the look of the royal tigress at bay.
“We are in Moscow, master goldsmith,” she said tartly, “the King of
France rules not here.”
“His arm is long, madame,” retorted Le Bastien coldly.
She laughed, and it was such an unpleasant laugh that I saw the
goldsmith wipe the perspiration off his forehead. There were torture
rooms in the Kremlin, and he knew it.
“If I may be permitted to return to my lodgings,” he said, “I will
undertake to restore the miniature to your highness--to rectify the
mistake.”
“You are under arrest,” she replied shortly, and stood looking at him
much as I have seen a cat watch a mouse.
“Perhaps she will let me go,” I suggested in French.
“Will your highness allow my apprentice to go for the miniature?” Le
Bastien asked, in a dignified tone.
She hesitated. I think she began to suspect me more than the grave,
elderly goldsmith, but she was determined, and she did not believe in
the story of the mistake. She took two short turns across the room,
stopping once to look out of the window, and then she touched a bell on
the table. Immediately my fat friend, the chamberlain, appeared, as if
she had conjured him from the subterranean regions.
“Vasili Ivanovitch,” she said to him, “you will accompany this
goldsmith,” she pointed at me, “back to his lodgings; you will wait
there until he makes a search for a picture of me; you will bring him
back, with or without the picture. You will not let him escape.”
“It is well, Sophia Alexeievna,” replied the chamberlain, bowing
profoundly.
She turned a strangely malicious glance upon me. “You may go,” she said
calmly.
I made my obeisance, but I could have laughed at the irony of fate. The
miniature was in the keeping of the Princess Daria, and what in the
world could I do with this fat old fool at our quarters? Verily, my
falsehood seemed likely enough to stick in my throat and be the ruin
both of Maître le Bastien and of me. I cast a look at him and saw that
he was as pale as ashes, but I could give him no comfort,--there was
none to give,--though I went out behind my portly friend, with thoughts
of such a nature that, had he divined them, he would scarcely have
walked in front of me, even on the Red Staircase.
_IX: I MAKE A PRISONER_
WE went back very deliberately to Maître le Bastien’s house. It was
not the chamberlain’s habit to walk rapidly, and I dragged purposely,
not only to gain time, but to plan some way of ridding myself of my
companion. Vasili Ivanovitch, as Sophia called him, but more commonly
Chamberlain Kourbsky, was determined to keep me close under his eye,
and I was equally determined to evade him. How, it yet remained to be
seen. We walked along, therefore, in grim silence, each busy doubtless
with his own plots, each watchful of the other. But slowly as we walked
we got to the house at last, and by that time I had made my plan, but
I know not whether he had his or not; if he had, it miscarried for the
time.
We entered the lower hall and I called loudly for Michaud, but the
varlet, taking advantage of his master’s absence, had gone out; neither
could I find Maluta; only Advotia came to stare at us stupidly, so
there was nothing left but to go on up the stairs with my friend the
chamberlain. And on the way he was suddenly seized with a sense of his
duty.
“You must haste, Master Goldsmith,” he said pompously; “the czarevna
waits.”
“Precisely,” I replied, nodding my head and passing the door of the
workshop; “you will follow me, sir.”
He stared a little, having halted at the shop, supposing that the
miniature was somewhere there amidst the litter of Maître le Bastien’s
work.
“It is not there,” I said, replying to his glance, “it is necessary to
secure the valuables. Ascend, monsieur.”
He sighed and followed me up the second flight, narrower than the
first, and we reached the _terem_. This part of the house, occupied now
only by Advotia and a female scullion, was bare and poor enough, and I
saw him stare about in astonishment, but I was not yet done with him.
“Higher, monsieur,” I said blandly, and led the way to the little
stairs that went to the turret, which contained one small room with
three narrow, slit-like windows.
He followed, obstinate as a bull, but I heard him pant as he laboured
up. The stairs were steep and narrow, and at the turn he nearly stuck
fast, and I heard him mumbling some incoherent ejaculations. Up I
went and he followed, blowing now and puffing out his cheeks. I was
well ahead, and slipped the key from the inside to the outside of the
lock; then I went into the little chamber and waited for him. On one
window-sill some pigeons sunned themselves, I could see the belfry of
the great tower of Ivan Veliki. I heard Kourbsky come up, blowing now
like a whale. There was a chest in the room, under one window, and,
as he entered, I pretended to be trying the lid. He stood getting his
breath, his face as red as blood, for he was very angry.
“The lid sticks,” I said. “Will monsieur take hold of the farther end?
The miniature is here.”
He bent reluctantly, grasped the end of the lid, and commenced to pull
with all his strength. As he did so I let it fly up and back, and he
fell over backwards, sitting down on the floor with a crash, and the
dust rose in a cloud about him. In a trice I was out of the room and
had slammed the door, and locked and bolted it on the outside. I had
caught my enemy, and for a moment I leaned on the stairs laughing,
hearing him bellow all the while within.
Then I looked down and saw Michaud staring up at me, with a strange
expression; he heard the chamberlain’s shouts and ejaculations as
plainly as I. Indeed, the great man’s voice seemed to shake the house
to its foundations, and his threats were blood-curdling. I went down
the stairs and touched Michaud on the shoulder.
“Follow me,” I said.
He obeyed, curious enough to know the meaning of it.
“Where were you when I came in?” I asked sharply, when we reached the
workshop.
“I came in a moment ago,” he answered sullenly.
I eyed him sharply; I had no time to waste upon him and saw no great
reason to distrust him. I told him, therefore, of Maître le Bastien’s
arrest, of his peril, of the necessity of keeping the chamberlain in
the house until I could return, and I watched him narrowly, all the
while, to see how he felt about it. That he was alarmed and sorry for
Maître le Bastien, I could not doubt; he showed it plainly, and my
first doubts of him began to slumber. Besides, he knew no Russ, and
hated the Russians, and I had the key of the upper room in my pocket. I
felt that I could trust him for an hour. I pledged him, therefore, on
his honour, to guard the upper room, to keep Advotia away from it, and
to let no one in at the front door in my absence.
“Remember that the master’s life may depend upon your faithfulness,” I
said severely, as I went down to the lower floor, feverish to be off to
the Princess Daria.
“_Sapristi!_” he replied, “would I fail the good man now? Have no fear,
monsieur.” He dragged a little on the word in a way I did not like, but
I knew his temper and thought little of it; besides there was no time
to lose.
I went at the top of my speed to the Voronin palace, pausing for no
man, scarcely conscious of the passers in the streets, and once in the
court-yard I knocked boldly at the door, where I had been so ridiculed
on the occasion of my former visit. But I met no ridicule now; scarcely
had I knocked before the door flew open, and old Piotr, grave and
stern, stood on the threshold eyeing me in a forbidding fashion. But
I did not heed it; instead, knowing that he could be trusted, I told
him of the gravity of my errand and that I must see the Princess Daria
without delay. At the mention of the czarevna and the visit of the two
young girls to the workshop, his face clouded yet more deeply, and I
thought that he was strongly agitated, though he answered me soberly
enough.
“Sir,” he said gravely, “the princess is not at home; she is in the
Kremlin.”
At this I started, deeply alarmed, and I saw my anxiety mirrored on his
face.
“We have not a moment to lose,” I said, almost fiercely, “to the
Kremlin, man, with me to find her.”
He shook his head, pointing inwards. “I dare not,” he replied, very
low; “the prince is here.”
“But his daughter’s safety, man!” I cried impatiently, “let me in to
tell him all.”
Old Piotr looked at me, much as he would have looked at a madman.
“Never tell him,” he said; “never betray her excellency--if you do!” he
lowered his brows, he curled his lips back from his strong white teeth,
like a wolf; “if you betray Daria Kirilovna, I--I, Piotr, will surely
kill you, so help me Saint Nikolas of Mojaïsk,” and he lifted both
hands over his head, swearing by the saint before whom all Russians
pledge their fidelity.
The strong old man, his grey head lifted, his hands also--with the
palms up--was a striking figure.
“I will never betray her,” I said heartily, and held out my hand.
He took it and pressed it lightly, not wholly trusting me. Then I
left him, for I had no time to lose. To the Kremlin--that was my one
thought as I sped. As luck would have it, at the very gate I stumbled
on Maluta. The dwarf looked at me keenly and began to follow me, and I,
impatient of him and not minded to be troubled with him, turned sharply.
“Be off, Maluta,” I said. “I have no time for you now--or use either.”
But he still followed. We were entering the Red Place and a second time
I ordered him off, but he came on and plucked at my coat.
“You seek her,” he said, peering at me, white-faced and ferret-eyed;
“you seek the Princess Daria?”
I started; was the thing unnatural in mind as well as body?
“Yes,” I said, “O astrologer, I seek the princess.”
“She is in the gardens of the Kremlin, serene excellency,” he said,
bowing low.
I stared.
“Do you mean it, goblin?” I cried. “Is she really there? If this is a
piece of your acting--of your trickery, you will pay dear for it!”
He laid his hands on his heart and then his forehead.
“Did not your excellency give me life?” he said. “By the great saint
over the gate, by----”
“Yes, I know, by the Saint Nikolas,” I said. “Where is she?”
“Follow me, O excellency,” he said eagerly; “she is in the gardens, she
and another, her cousin Vassalissa Feodorovna.”
“By Saint Denis!” I exclaimed, under my breath, “what absolutely
gigantic luck! The little varlet is an angel in disguise. Lead on, O
prophet!” I added; “lead and I follow.”
He smiled and, turning sharply on his heel, led me toward the gardens.
We walked so rapidly that in a few moments we were following a path
amidst the trees and shrubbery of the Kremlin pleasure-grounds. The
green of the spring was here and the sunshine; I heard a bird singing
overhead, I saw the splash and glimmer of a fountain. There was the
faint sweetness of early flowers, delicate, thin in essence, the first
breath of the northern summer. The place was very quiet, the turf
green and soft under foot; there was a grove of slender young trees
before us, their branches feathered with spring, their stems tall and
sparsely grouped, framing a pathway where the sunshine made a mellow
light. In it I saw two tall young figures in long cloaks, and each
wearing the _fata_--a veil like a nun’s--to hide their faces, but I
could not mistake the taller figure; the bearing, the very gait had
been graven on my mind. It was the Princess Daria.
_X: IN THE GARDEN OF THE KREMLIN_
AS the girls drew nearer I caught a glimpse of a third figure in the
rear; my friend the duenna was following slowly, leaning on her staff.
Meanwhile Vassalissa had stopped at the sight of me and plucked at
her companion’s skirts, but the princess did not heed her, she came
steadily toward me, stepping so lightly that I do not believe a blade
of grass was crushed beneath her feet. She would have passed me,
responding but slightly to my salutation, but I barred the way; with
uncovered head.
“I must speak with you, Princess,” I said firmly, “of a matter that
concerns your safety as much as that of Maître le Bastien.”
She halted at that, though the duenna began to chatter objections and
shake her staff at me, but Daria silenced her by a gesture.
“Speak on, sir,” she said to me, and through her veil I could see her
beautiful eyes regarding me gravely.
I plunged at once into my story, telling her--as briefly as I could--of
the summons to the Kremlin, and of Sophia’s anger, and of her
determination to solve the problem of the lost miniature. While I spoke
I saw that Lissa was listening with evident agitation, clinging to her
cousin’s arm, but I could not read the thoughts of the princess. She
heard me to the end, without the slightest interruption, and once or
twice she glanced in the direction of the palace and then back at my
face, but her composure was entirely unshaken.
When I had finished my recital Lissa could be restrained no longer; she
broke out impetuously, and in a frightened voice.
“It is all my fault, Daria,” she said. “Oh, forgive me! What shall we
do? Of course, the fat creature is furious!”
The fat creature! Oh, if Sophia had heard her!
The princess cast an impatient glance at her cousin.
“For myself it does not matter, Lissa,” she said quietly, “and I, too,
am to blame--but, look you, here is the good goldsmith in peril for our
sakes.”
“I know,” said Lissa, nodding her head at me, “I know--but we must get
him out of this trouble.”
“Can you give me the czarevna’s picture, Princess?” I asked. “If you
can, I will undertake to straighten the matter for you.”
She looked at me absently, apparently lost in thought.
“Of course, he can have the picture, Daria,” Lissa cried eagerly.
“Yes, he can have it,” the princess replied calmly, “but that will
not matter--it is only the beginning of the end. It was folly, it
was madness----” She broke off, and stood looking at the ground, an
expression of great perplexity upon her face. She had pushed her veil
aside and I saw that she was very pale.
Lissa looked at her, clinging to her hand.
“Oh, I think it will not matter so much, Daria,” she said. “Uncle
Kirill will straighten it for us.”
The princess smiled sadly and shook her head.
“If you will trust me,” I said, addressing her, “I will take the
miniature to her highness, and I will so bear the matter out that you
shall not fall under the shadow of a connection with the change of
portraits. You may trust me, mademoiselle, on my honour as a French
gentleman.”
She gave me a swift, searching glance, and with her hand on Lissa’s
lips checked that young girl’s impulsive reply.
“Sir,” she said gravely, “you cannot understand how serious this matter
is. It began in a moment of folly--a jest upon Prince Galitsyn, but
I had repented of it--and all would have been well but for the--the
accident that gave the locket back to him, and through him to the
czarevna.”
“Surely, mademoiselle, not by his free will,” I said, “if he is the
brave man that men call him.”
She coloured deeply. “I think not by his free will,” she said, “for
he must know the peril of it for me, and for mine. Howbeit, I am no
coward,” she added proudly, “and I must face it to the end. But
you must have the miniature, if only for Maître le Bastien’s sake,
and”--she stopped and glanced at me almost shyly, more girlish in her
aspect than I had ever seen her--“and for yours, monsieur.”
I bowed gravely. “Consider me not at all, Princess,” I said softly,
“except as your servant.”
“I thank you,” she replied, with simple dignity. “I will send at once
for the miniature.”
“Let me go!” pleaded Lissa; “let me do this much to atone, Daria.”
“So you shall,” replied the princess, clapping her hands softly, and as
she did so another attendant, a tall, raw-boned lad, in a serf’s dress,
appeared.
“Take Konrat and go,” she said to Vassalissa, “and let your feet be
fleet as the raven’s wings, Lissa, for a good man is in trouble for our
folly.”
Her little cousin needed no second bidding, but ran off, with the serf,
in the direction of the Bielui-gorod. And the Princess Daria, after a
few words to the duenna, walked a little apart on a mossy bank below
the fountain, and then signed to me to follow her. I supposed that she
intended to question me about the czarevna, but she did not. The sun
was shining on her, as if it loved her, and her veil made a filmy white
hood above her charming face.
“You are from France, sir,” she said softly; “will you tell me
something of that far-off land--more than I have learned in books? Is
your home in that great city where the king lives?”
“Nay, mademoiselle,” I replied, surprised and pleased, “my home is in a
province of France, called Normandy, and from the turrets of my house I
can see the waves sweep wild and free on a long stretch of hard, white
beach, and the smell of the salt is in the air, and there is ever the
deep boom of the ocean. When the day breaks there is a whiteness on the
sea, and when the night falls, a shadow, and the stars shine on the
water. And the turf is green there, and the trees and flowers come to
an earlier budding, and I think, too, the birds sing more sweetly. And
there are orchards, and fields of grain, and you can see the cattle
standing, ankle-deep, in the stream that runs across the meadows below
the château, and----” I broke off; presently I should tell her more
than I cared to have her know.
She had listened attentively, her eyes on the distance, and as I
paused, she sighed softly.
“It must be a fair country,” she said. “I see you love it, sir--but I
thought you were a goldsmith from Paris,” and she darted one of her
keen looks at me.
It was now my turn to redden. “I am from Paris last, Princess,” I said,
“but I am Norman-born.”
“I understand,” she said. “’Tis so here also. We are from different
provinces; from the north and the south, from Great and Little and
White Russia, from Kief, and Novgorod, and Kazan, and Lithuania, but,”
she added softly, “we all love the White Mother Moscow. Is it so with
Paris?”
I shook my head, smiling a little. Our brethren south of the Loire had
not loved Paris much since Saint Bartholomew, and there were others. I
remembered that I had thought it an evil star which took me to Paris,
but now I began to think differently.
“Paris is a very great city, mademoiselle,” I said, “and emulation and
jealousy and strife are there--in secret places--just as turbulence and
strife are brooding here to-day in Moscow.”
She opened her eyes and looked at me in surprise.
“I do not understand you, monsieur,” she said.
“I mean the Streltsi, mademoiselle, and the jealousy between the
Naryshkins and Miloslavskys. The soldiers seem ripe for rebellion.”
She shrugged her shoulders with a disdainful smile.
“They would not dare,” she said haughtily; “what are they? Nothing but
moujiks, and the sons of moujiks; there is no aristocratic blood there
to lead.”
“Sometimes the _canaille_ can do much mischief, Princess,” I replied,
“and what if these moujiks are secretly led by royalty itself?”
She glanced at me quickly, a little startled, but she had an
aristocrat’s contempt for the mob.
“I cannot believe they would be,” she said. “He who turned the rabble
loose would be in the greatest danger himself. Besides, the government
has conceded so much to these soldiers; too much, my father says.”
“That is precisely the point, mademoiselle,” I replied; “it has
conceded so much that it can no longer command; it is entreating them.”
Her expression changed and grew grave. Then, after a moment, she smiled
and seemed to cast the whole matter to the four winds.
“Where is my bracelet, sir?” she asked suddenly. “Have you mended it?”
“Not yet, mademoiselle,” I replied, as glibly as I could, “but it shall
be mended in a manner worthy of the arm that is to wear it.”
“You have never mended bracelets!” she said, looking at me from under
her long lashes.
“If I mended one for anyone, it would be for the Princess Daria,” I
replied, with gallantry.
She blushed. “You are long about it,” she retorted, pouting. “I want my
bracelet!”
“’Tis hard to part with it, Princess,” I said daringly.
She bridled, and I know not what she would have replied, for, at the
moment, Lissa came running up, breathless, with the miniature, which
she thrust into my hands.
“Go, go!” she cried, “and save your master and save us too!”
“Yes,” said the princess gravely, “there is no time to lose, master
goldsmith!”
It was hard to go, but I knew also that time was precious; I concealed
the miniature on my person, and bowed profoundly to the two young girls.
“To hear you is to obey, Princess,” I said, looking straight into her
eyes, and she blushed furiously and dropped her veil over her face.
“Then go, sir,” she said imperiously.
“At once, mademoiselle,” I replied, and turned away.
I had gone, perhaps, ten or twenty yards, when I heard the patter of
feet behind, and Lissa came running after me.
“Do not mind her,” she panted. “Daria is not really cross, only she
will play the princess. But, oh, do smooth the matter over with that
dreadful czarevna, for it was all my fault! I gave the trinket to
Galitsyn; you know he is half mad with love of Daria? Oh, there! I have
told too much----” She clapped her hands over her rosy lips, her eyes
dancing.
We heard the princess calling sharply: “Lissa, Lissa!”
“I come, I come!” cried the girl and to me, “there--do, do it, sir, do
help us!”
“Trust me, mademoiselle,” I said, smiling; “not only for her sake--but
for yours, too.”
“I thank you.” The girl poised on one foot, ready to run back to her
cousin; “and--and I do not believe you are a horrid old goldsmith
either!” and she was off, fleet as a young fawn.
_XI: THE PLOT THICKENS_
WITH the miniature in my possession again I had not a moment to lose.
It was necessary to take it to Sophia at once, and I could not release
the chamberlain Kourbsky until I had seen the czarevna. Indeed, I did
not know how I could let him out at all, for he would surely stir up
a great commotion. Yet it had been absolutely necessary to get rid of
him, or to betray Daria. And as I sped toward the Red Place again, I
made up my mind to think no more of the chamberlain until Sophia was
satisfied with her picture, and then to find some way out of the other
difficulty. That he was wild with rage in that little turret room I did
not doubt, and thinking of him as I saw him last, sitting in a cloud of
dust, I laughed aloud--but I laughed too soon.