"No, you must not ask me, for I cannot tell you," she faltered, after I
had gravely repeated my earnest inquiry. She shrank from my embrace,
and as she stood before me, her handsome head was bent in an attitude of
utter dejection.
"Ah, the same lame story?" I cried impatiently. "You refuse."
She raised her sad eyes. I saw in their clear depths a yearning for
pity.
"I dare not tell you yet, Geoffrey," she whispered, in a strained,
terrified voice.
"You know well how much keen anxiety the loss of that document caused
me," I said. "Why did you not tell me that it was in your keeping?"
"It was not in my keeping," she protested. "I recovered it only a few
days before we parted."
"But you knew something of its whereabouts?" I argued.
"I was not certain," she vaguely replied, her slim fingers picking at
the bands of pearl passementerie across the flimsy chiffon of her
bodice.
With an expression of disbelief I turned from her.
"Ah, Geoffrey," she cried wildly, "I am fully conscious of what your
thoughts must be. Now that you have discovered my true position, that I
am a Russian, you believe I had a hand in the theft of the Anglo-German
Convention; that by my machinations its text was transmitted to St
Petersburg--eh?"
No answer passed my lips, but I think I bowed my head in confirmation of
her fevered words.
"Well, it is untrue, as you will learn some day. It is untrue, I
swear," she exclaimed with terrible earnestness. "Instead of
endeavouring to bring suspicion and opprobrium upon you, and disaster
upon the nations of Europe, I have striven both night and day to clear
away the ill effect produced by the dastard revelations made to our
Ministry in St Petersburg. Remember that the single spark required to
fire the mine and convulse the world from Calais to Pekin was not
applied; the Tzar refrained from declaring war. Some day you, and
through you, the British Government, will know the reason a recourse to
arms was averted. When you are made aware of the truth, then no longer
will you misjudge me."
She spoke with a fervency that was entirely unfeigned; her bright eyes
met mine with unwavering glance, and with a quick movement she had
placed one hand upon her breast as if to allay the palpitation there.
Her heart was full; upon her fair face was an expression of mingled
anxiety and dread, and her bejewelled hands trembled.
"I am your husband," I said calmly. "If I promise you not to divulge--
surely I may know your secret whatever it may be."
"No," she answered, speaking almost mechanically, "I dare not tell you
anything at present. It would be fatal to all my plans--fatal to me,
and to you."
"You speak so strangely," I observed, with some warmth. "Mystery seems
one of your idiosyncrasies."
"Ah," she sighed, advancing a step towards me, her head sunk upon her
breast, "it is imperative. You cannot know how I have suffered,
Geoffrey, ever since we met. Long ago at `The Nook,' fearing that I
should bring you unhappiness, I strove to tear myself from you and
return here to this life, but was unable. I loved you, and hated all
the strict etiquette and theatrical display with which I am bound to
surround myself, merely because I chance to be born of an Imperial
family. I married you, and, content in the knowledge that you loved me
devotedly, I was prepared to renounce my name and live quietly with you
always. But, alas! we of the Romanoffs are ruled by the head of our
House, and our actions are ofttimes in obedience to the will of the
Emperor. I was compelled to depart without revealing to you the secret
of my birth."
"But why did you masquerade in that manner?" I inquired.
"At first I did so in order to avoid all the trammels of Court life in
St Petersburg, the eternal gaiety of la Ville Lumiere, and to be free to
do what I liked and go where I chose," she answered. "Soon, however, my
life as Ella Laing became a stern reality, for I met and loved you."
"Then you regretted?"
"I regretted only because I feared that I cared for you too much--that
one day we should be compelled to part."
"You knew that it was impossible for you to renounce both title and
position," I hazarded, looking at her gravely.
"I feared that my family would not allow me to do so," she answered
frankly. "Yet you proposed marriage; we became man and wife, and the
first weeks of our new life were full of joy and happiness. Soon,
however, the Nemesis that I dreaded fell upon me, crushing all desire
for life from my heart. I was compelled to fly and leave you in
ignorance."
"And you forgot that in your escritoire there remained the stolen
agreement?" I said slowly, looking straight into her pale face.
"Yes, I admit it," she replied, in a voice almost inaudible, her dry
lips moving convulsively. "So full was my mind of thoughts of you that
I did not remember it until too late to return and secure it."
"The woman who passed as Mrs Laing was not, of course, your mother?"
"She was no relation whatever. I paid her to pose as my maternal
relative and keep house for me."
"Where is she now?"
"I have no idea," my wife answered. "She was a curious woman, and,
strangely enough, she left London suddenly, on the very morning of the
day of my departure."
"And what of Beck?" I asked. "Did he know who you really were?"
"Scarcely," she exclaimed. "Do you think he could have kept to himself
the knowledge that I was a relative of the Tzar. Why, such a man would
have related the fact that he knew me, and dined at our house, to every
member of his club within twenty-four hours. You know, as well as I do,
how he simply adores anybody with a title. It is the same with all the
newly-wealthy crowd who are struggling to get into society."
It was upon my tongue to explain to her the truth regarding the
man-servant who passed as Helmholtz; nevertheless, I hesitated to do so
at present because of my promise to Paul Verblioudovitch. The silence
between us was protracted. She had covered her tear-stained face with
her hands, and was sobbing.
Nevertheless, I was not moved with pity. Her determination to preserve
her secret filled me with annoyance. I had expected her to make
confession, but I plainly saw she had no intention of revealing the
truth.
"Why did you associate with a woman of such doubtful reputation as Sonia
Korolenko?" I asked abruptly at last.
"Because I wished to ascertain something," she replied, in a harsh
voice.
"She is scarcely your friend," I observed.
"She is," she declared. "I have known her for several years."
"And you were actually aware of her true character while associating
with her!" I exclaimed, rather surprised.
"Of course," she sighed. "She is an adventuress, I know; nevertheless,
she has proved my friend on many occasions."
"That's curious," I remarked.
"Why?"
"Because she made certain allegations against you," I answered.
"Yes," she said, without betraying either anger or surprise. "I am
fully aware of that. Strange though it may appear, her statements were
made with a definite object."
"Why did she utter such unfounded calumnies?"
"Because I wished to see whether you really loved me," she answered,
drawing herself up and regarding me with sudden calmness. At that
moment she assumed the air of the Grand Duchess.
"I did love you," I declared, "and I took no heed of her assertions. I
notice, however," I added, turning and pointing towards the piano, "I
notice that you have placed in a position of conspicuousness the
portrait of the man she declared was your lover. Side by side you have
placed the pictures of betrayer and betrayed."
She held her breath, gazing across to the spot I had indicated. Then,
in a voice full of emotion, she said,--
"You were foully betrayed, Geoffrey, it is true, but the evil that was
done has now been eradicated."
"In other words, Ogle has paid the death penalty, eh?" I observed, with
a grim expression of satisfaction.
"No, no, not that," she protested seriously. "I mean that the strained
relations between your country and mine have now been readjusted, and
that a feeling more amicable than before prevails. Even the Earl of
Warnham must admit the plain truth that no Power joins another in war
unless it sees its own interest in so doing. Russia now, as before the
effusion of hearts here in Paris, will attend to her own business, and
will not send her Black Sea and Baltic Fleets flying out unless her
interests bring her into collision with your British Government--and
then it may happen it will not be the interest of France to fight. In
the latter days of Louis Philippe there was talk of a Franco-Russian
alliance, and there were people who knew--they did not think they knew
on the best authority--that the two would be one next spring. Yet Louis
Philippe went over to your England an exile by the useful name of Smith,
and before long France and England were allied in war against my
country. No, good counsel has prevailed, and by the very revelation of
the secret alliance contracted between England and Germany, European
peace has been secured."
"You talk like a diplomatist," I observed reflectively.