TWO WARNINGS.
I WALKED away from Mentchikof’s house with a heavy heart. I knew that
Najine’s position was dangerous, and that Catherine’s folly had turned
the scale in Zotof’s favor. The favorite would never have uttered his
veiled threat against mademoiselle unless he felt that she held the key
to the situation, that the czar was prepared to let his inclinations
govern him at last, and would take some step towards publicly declaring
his choice to be the young girl who had bewitched him. I knew that
he had wavered between the two women, the one whom he already loved
and the one who loved him; but now that the latter had been betrayed
into something that savored so closely of treason, he would naturally
turn to the young woman who by birth and education was best fitted to
succeed the Czarina Eudoxia. Catherine, the Livonian peasant girl,
might be the toy of the hour, but Najine would be the Czarina of
Russia. Poor mademoiselle, my heart was touched whenever I remembered
the expression of her dark blue eyes when she listened to my eulogium
of her lover. How little would her opposition avail her if Peter was
determined to wed her! Her family would be solid in the support of her
imperial lover, a crown would tempt her, an autocrat compel her; and
yet, when I recalled the haughty pose of her head, I wondered if they
would find her as pliable as they supposed. Poor M. de Lambert! What
evil fate had turned his fancy into the same channel as a king’s? My
friend was recovered from his wound and was as headstrong as ever; and
what would come of it?
I walked slowly to my quarters, revolving many things in my mind, and
so absorbed that I scarcely noticed the men whom I passed, although it
was an hour before noon, and the streets were full; but I had the habit
of preoccupation and could be solitary in a crowd. When I turned into
the lane behind my lodgings, however, I became suddenly aware that some
one was following me, and looking back saw the Swede, Gustavus Lenk. I
halted and signed to him to approach, which he did readily enough, thus
refuting a momentary doubt of his integrity.
“Why do you follow me?” I asked, a trifle sharply.
“I was waiting for an opportunity to speak to you, my lord,” he replied
quietly; “I did not like to stop you on the open street, so many are
abroad to-day.”
“You have some tidings for my ear alone?” I inquired, marvelling a
little at the man’s strange gratitude to us.
“Your Excellency,” he began, hesitating a trifle, “am I mistaken in
thinking that the young Frenchman who was attacked by the bridge is
interested in the family of the Councillor Zotof?”
I was not a little surprised. “You are not mistaken,” I replied at
once; “have you any tidings of them?”
“I do not spy upon these people myself,” he said, his face flushing
under my eyes; “but others do, and information reaches me. It is
rumored that the czar will select the niece of Zotof for his bride, and
it is whispered, also, that she herself is in danger from the jealousy
of others.”
I listened gravely; he was not telling me anything new, and yet it was
a shock to have my own worst fears confirmed.
“I thank you,” I said briefly. “Any tidings that you can bring us will
be welcome; any service that you can render to mademoiselle will be
as much esteemed as a service to one of us.” Remembering that he had
accepted my wife’s gift, I drew a ring from my finger and gave it to
him. “Accept it,” I said, “not only as an acknowledgment, but if any
trouble threatens mademoiselle or M. de Lambert, send it to me as a
signal.”
He thanked me and put it on his hand, and then, as I was turning away,
stopped me again.
“Your Excellency,” he said, “you yourself are constantly shadowed, not
only by Prince Dolgoruky’s man Tikhon, but by Apraxin, who has returned
within a few days and is watching Mademoiselle Zotof and you.”
Without being surprised, I was not entirely prepared for this
information, and it was far from agreeable.
“Was I followed just now?” I asked.
“All the way to Mentchikof’s palace,” he answered quietly; “and if I
mistake not, there is a fellow loitering now at the end of the lane.”
We both looked back, and it seemed to me that I saw a man draw back
into the corner of the wall. I shrugged my shoulders.
“They will find it a weary task,” I remarked, and with a few more
words of thanks I dismissed him and went on to my own door. Entering,
I inquired for M. de Lambert, and found that he had just returned from
his first walk abroad since his wound, and I went at once to his room.
He was reclining in a large chair by the fire, and his pallor startled
me; yet it was more the contrast between his face and the dark coat he
wore than the color of his complexion. But his wound and the enforced
confinement had told upon him, and he looked thin and weary, although
he greeted me with a smile and an expectant expression.
“A dull day, monsieur,” I said, “and dull news. Let me sit by your
fire.”
“The heat is grateful after the frosty atmosphere without,” he replied,
as I seated myself opposite.
“I am beginning to grow old, I believe,” I remarked, laughing, “since
I love the chimney-corner and a blazing log. You have been out to-day,
they tell me.”
“I could endure my confinement no longer,” he answered, giving me a
keen glance. “You have some tidings, monsieur; what are they?”
“Nay,” I said, “no tidings, M. de Lambert. I have but now returned from
Mentchikof, and for the time a cloud obscures his glory. Catherine
Shavronsky wrote a foolish letter--or dictated it--a letter that told
too much of both the czar and his favorite and also of herself. Of
course, the billet was intercepted and reached his Majesty. You can
picture the result.”
“The poor fool!” he exclaimed with impatience; “has she a longing for
Archangel?”
“For the crown, monsieur,” I replied, laughing; “but women love the
pen.”
“And if she is retired from the court, there is no one to stand before
mademoiselle,” he exclaimed abruptly, his mind suddenly grasping all
the consequences. “Mentchikof out of favor and the other party in the
ascendant, Najine will be the lamb for their sacrifice.”
I was silent, indeed there was nothing to say; he had outlined the
situation. He rose from his chair and walked to the window and looked
out. I saw that he was too agitated to discuss the matter, and I sat
there turning it over in my mind. The way that was the simplest and
most effectual would be the most dangerous. I could not advise him to
carry mademoiselle off and marry her, for I felt sure that the czar
would not scruple to throw him into prison and declare the marriage
annulled, in which case it would take all my influence and the threats
of France to save him; as for mademoiselle, she would be sent to a
convent. Yet, for my life, I could see no other way. The Zotofs would
never admit his suit, Najine was powerless, and the czar would send him
back to France at the first hint of a marriage. But, after all, what
was the use of my mature reasoning? He was a hot-headed lover, and I
knew well that his mind was even now dwelling on some scheme to cut the
knot. My chief hope was that Catherine’s appeal to Peter would restore
her to favor, as my chief anxiety was the veiled threat of Alexander
Mentchikof.
M. de Lambert turned from the window and stood regarding me.
“I have been there,” he said abruptly, “and they would not admit me.”
“You mean the Zotofs?” I asked, glancing up with surprise.
“Ay,” he replied, “I mean the Zotofs. I went openly to the door, and
was refused admittance; then I went to the back of the house, scaled
the low wall of the court, and walked beneath Najine’s windows, but
without result. There was no sign or token that she was there.”
“They have, doubtless, removed her to other quarters since her
illness,” I said. “She is there, I am sure, but probably they know that
you are on the watch. I would be cautious, monsieur; the sight of you
will but increase their vigilance. You are not yet recovered from the
result of your temerity, therefore recollect that you carry your life
in your hand.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I was a fool to be surprised by that
murderous boy,” he retorted, “and if he had not leaped on me with a
knife so suddenly, I should have taught him a lesson; but he sprang
like an animal, and had me by the throat with one hand, while with the
other he struck the blade into my side.”
“And he has returned,” I remarked thoughtfully; “therefore it is doubly
necessary to be cautious.”
While I was speaking, M. de Lambert had been again looking from the
window, so intently that he did not heed me.
“Pierrot is below in the court,” he said, “and is talking to one of
the czar’s equerries. They have had their heads together for a quarter
of an hour, and I have no doubt that Pierrot has sifted the fellow as
wheat. There is something of interest, for the old knave will not let
the equerry go; he has him by the cloak and is questioning him with
lip and eye. It is a picture.”
I rose, and, joining him at his post, looked down upon the two men
below. Both were too intent to observe us,--the equerry endeavoring
to disengage himself; Pierrot persistent, gracious, eager. I laughed
softly. The old rogue had not lost his cunning; no one was more clever
at extracting information, no one more difficult to fathom.
“It is a bit of gossip,” M. de Lambert said. “Look at Touchet! He
is listening with that expression he wears when he hears two people
speaking Russ. Now and then a gleam of absolute complaisance crosses
his face, when he really understands a sentence; at other times he is
the picture of contemptuous bewilderment.”
“Pierrot is worth a hundred such,” I said; “men like Touchet come
for the asking, but there are few like Pierrot. Astute, cautious,
devoted--my cause is his.”
“You have the quality that attaches men to you, monsieur,” M. de
Lambert rejoined pleasantly; “it is a good fortune to serve the
Maréchal de Brousson.”
At this moment the equerry looked up, and, seeing us at the window,
would be detained no longer, but tearing himself away from Pierrot
hurried across the court. On the instant M. de Lambert leaned out, and
called to Pierrot to come up to us.
“We must have the news, monsieur,” he said, laughing. “I cannot let
them keep that morsel for themselves.”
“You grow trifling,” I remarked with a smile.
“An invalid’s privilege,” he said. “My sick-room would have been dull
indeed, but for the gossip they brought me.”
As we resumed our former seats, Pierrot came in and stood gravely
awaiting our commands.
“The tidings, Pierrot,” M. de Lambert exclaimed lightly; “let us have
the tidings.”
I had been observing Pierrot’s face, and read there a reluctance to
speak which made me uneasy. He glanced at me now before he replied.
“It is but the gossip of the court officials, monsieur,” he said,
addressing M. de Lambert, but watching me for a sign which I did not
give. “It may be false.”
“It must be bad news, man,” M. de Lambert remarked quickly, “else you
would not give it such a preface.”
“It is said,” Pierrot continued, despairing of help from me, “that
his Majesty was closeted with M. Zotof, that M. Mentchikof will be
dismissed, and Mademoiselle Shavronsky is to go to Novodevitchy, and--”
He paused, stammering and looking again at me.
“Go on!” M. de Lambert exclaimed impatiently; “have you no tongue, that
you cannot get through so simple a speech? Let us hear all.”
Pierrot was desperate, and he straightened himself and told the rest
without a pause, his expression stolid.
“It is reported that the czar has formally declared his intention of
being married to Mademoiselle Zotof within the month; and although this
is not publicly announced, the court officials are preparing for the
change.”
M. de Lambert’s face flushed darkly, and he leaned forward in his
chair, listening eagerly to the speaker; but even at the end he uttered
not a word, but I saw his brown eyes flash with resolution.
“Is there anything more?” he asked sharply after the pause, searching
his informant’s face.
Pierrot’s glance sank to the floor, and he shifted his position
uneasily; I knew that the last was the most difficult to tell.
“It is said, monsieur,” he replied in a low tone, “that Mademoiselle
Zotof has signified her willingness to be a--to obey the czar.”
M. de Lambert sprang from his chair with a fierce exclamation. “It is a
lie!” he cried bitterly, “a worthless, miserable lie!”
I checked him with a gesture; then, addressing my equerry,--
“That is all,” I said quietly, meaning that he could go; and he availed
himself of the opportunity with alacrity, only too glad to escape the
responsibility of giving unpleasant information. Meanwhile M. de
Lambert was walking about the room like one possessed.
“Did you ever hear such a damnable lie?” he exclaimed angrily; “the
idlest, most miserable attempt to circulate a fable.”
“On the contrary,” I replied thoughtfully, “I have expected some such
tidings for many days.”
“To what do you refer, M. le Maréchal?” he asked coldly.
“To the announcement of the czar’s intentions in regard to his
marriage.”
“It is not that,” he said with impatience; “it is the lie about
Najine,--that she has yielded so readily.”
I smiled. “After all, monsieur,” I rejoined gently, “are you sure
that she may not have changed her mind? The pressure must have been
tremendous, and she is young and doubtless ambitious.”
He paused before me, looking into my eyes, his flushed face unusually
handsome in its anger.
“You drive me mad, M. le Vicomte,” he said bitterly. “I know that I
am no match for a czar, but I judge mademoiselle’s heart by my own.
Neither do I believe her so weak as to yield to any pressure; she has a
noble spirit. I would stake my life upon her truth.”
I rose, and laid my hand upon his shoulder. “I did but jest,
Guillaume,” I said kindly. “I have often tried you and never found
you wanting. A hot-headed lover, but a loyal one. Mademoiselle is
fortunate. But plainly, monsieur, I have no doubt that the czar does
intend to wed her, and I do not at the moment perceive how either you
or I can prevent it.”
He felt the truth of my words, and stood looking at the floor, his
expression for the first time showing great depression.
“M. le Maréchal,” he said at last, turning upon me, “you won Madame
de Brousson almost at the point of the sword; why should I fail? Have
I not the greater opportunity, since I have your advice and, I trust,
your aid too?”
“My aid certainly, my dear M. de Lambert,” I replied heartily, for I
really loved the young man for his courage and his simplicity.
“Then doubtless I shall win,” he exclaimed; “you have but to teach me
how you achieved your victory, in the teeth of just such difficulties
and many more.”
I looked at him gravely, and shook my head.
“You forget, monsieur,” I replied quietly, “my rival was not the czar.”