A DUEL WITH TONGUES.
WITH the czar’s threat ringing ominously in my ears, I ascended the
stairs and, asking M. de Lambert to remain in the _salon_, went on to
Madame de Brousson’s door to inquire for Najine. At the sound of my
voice they both came out into the ante-room, mademoiselle’s face still
pale with excitement. She ran up to me with the pretty manner of a
child, and, taking my hand, kissed it with impulsive gratitude.
“M. l’Ambassadeur,” she said, “I feel as if I ought to go down on
my knees to you and Madame de Brousson, for rescuing me from this
situation; I do not know how I could have faced the czar in this house.”
“Mademoiselle,” I replied gravely, “it was our happiness to shield
you, but I fear that we can do little more at this time. I wished to
talk to you without restraint, therefore I came alone. The czar has
spoken freely to me, and I believe that it is impossible for you to
escape to France at present; you are too closely watched. It is equally
impossible for me to protect you here; therefore, mademoiselle, there
is but one course open: you must go with all speed to your good aunt at
Troïtsa.”
“We had ourselves reached that conclusion,” Zénaïde said, “and Najine
and I were perfecting our arrangements to leave here in the morning.”
“That will not do,” I replied at once; “you must go within the hour.”
Mademoiselle glanced up with surprise, and Zénaïde uttered a protest.
“Philippe!” she exclaimed reproachfully, “mademoiselle will think you
lacking in courtesy.”
“No, no!” protested Najine, warmly, “I am sure that M. de Brousson has
some good reason for his haste.”
“I have the best, mademoiselle,” I replied; “the czar will undoubtedly
order your uncle to remove you from my house, and I have no authority
to resist him.”
“I know it, monsieur,” she replied gravely; “it is as I said, I cannot
remain here. Madame has urged me in her kindness, but it is impossible.
Neonila and I must find a way to escape from Moscow at once.”
“How can they?” cried Zénaïde, casting an indignant glance at me,--“two
women, and at this hour!”
“M. de Lambert and Pierrot will accompany them,” I replied firmly;
“they must not lose an hour.”
“I must go with them,” Zénaïde exclaimed.
“Pardon me, madame,” I answered, “you must, on the contrary, remain
here and detain the Councillor Zotof’s party.”
In a moment Zénaïde understood my scheme, and let me go to summon
Pierrot and give my orders. It was nearly midnight, and he was sleepy
and loath to go on his errand; but a few words from me roused him to
meet the emergency. Then I sought M. de Lambert, and informed him of
the measures which I had taken without consulting him, because I knew
that it would be folly to expect his acquiescence, and fatal to delay
Najine’s flight. He was angry and surprised at my action, and mastered
his emotion with difficulty, for his nature was impulsive.
“This seems a hard measure for mademoiselle,” he exclaimed at once, “to
send her away at this hour, when she came here for aid and protection.”
“M. de Lambert,” I replied gravely, “I understand your feeling, and you
have my sympathy in your indignation for mademoiselle, but I am truly
giving her the best aid in my power. If she stays here until morning,
I should be compelled to surrender her to her uncle; the demand is
inevitable, and may come at any hour. Moreover, I think it has cost
mademoiselle something to take this decided step; she is not without
regret and hesitation at the thought of acting directly in opposition
to her guardians, and it is possible that, under their persuasion, she
might yet surrender her will to theirs, which would be fatal to your
interests. It is no light thing for a young girl, reared as she has
been, to evade her uncle’s authority and contemplate a stolen marriage.
If you hope to succeed in your suit, you must speedily get her out of
the reach of Zotof and his wife.”
He listened to me thoughtfully, and I saw that he realized the truth
of my words. He stood with folded arms, his eyes bent on the fire and
his brows furrowed with anxiety. He was probably thinking of a dozen
ways to evade the czar, and in the end finding himself, each time, in
a _cul-de-sac_. I heard Pierrot’s step on the stair, and knew that all
things were in readiness.
“M. de Lambert,” I said gravely, “when this errand is over, we must
seriously consider your own situation. The czar has virtually demanded
your return to France, and I have no doubt that the passports will
be forthcoming; in which case there will be an accumulation of
difficulties.”
He looked at me calmly. “I shall remain here, monsieur,” he said at
once, “as long as mademoiselle remains.”
I smiled in spite of myself. “Even if she becomes the Czarina of
Russia?” I asked naïvely.
At this moment Pierrot announced that all preparations for departure
had been made, and so checked the angry retort that was on M. de
Lambert’s lips, for he always lost his temper at the suggestion that
mademoiselle would ultimately wed the czar. As Pierrot came, Madame de
Brousson entered by the other door with Najine and her woman, and I
had my last instructions to give, so that we had no further words over
mademoiselle’s future. Indeed I was anxious to hurry them off, knowing
that the reprieve would be short. Najine herself was nervous and
impatient, although she clung affectionately to my wife and, I thought,
would have been happy to stay with her. Zénaïde petted and soothed her,
after the fashion of women, until I felt it necessary to hasten them.
“Pardon my seeming discourtesy, mademoiselle,” I said, “but haste is
imperative. Pierrot, is everything in readiness?”
“At your service, M. le Vicomte,” he replied promptly.
Zénaïde herself adjusted mademoiselle’s mantle and hood, and M. de
Lambert, having placed his pistols in his belt, assumed his cloak, and
they were ready to follow Pierrot down to the rear door. Najine came to
me with outstretched hands, her charming face just peeping out of the
great gray fur-lined hood, which was peaked at the top and, framing her
face, met under her small firm chin.
“I thank you from my heart, monsieur,” she said softly. “May the
saints reward you for your kindness.”
“Mademoiselle,” I replied warmly, “I am always entirely at your
service, and, I trust, may yet find a way out of your difficulties.”
Something in the simplicity of her manner touched me more than her
words, and I went with her to the door and stood there, while she bade
Zénaïde farewell, without the heart to hasten her again. Finally,
however, M. de Lambert drew her arm through his and led her out into
the night, followed by Pierrot and her woman, while we watched in the
entry until we heard the horses start, and knew that they were safely
off; then I closed the door and barred it.
“And now for a few hours of repose!” I exclaimed with a sigh of relief;
but I was destined to disappointment. The words were scarcely out of my
mouth before a knock on the front door resounded through the house.
“Hark!” exclaimed Zénaïde, “what can it mean?”
“Some one who is determined to enter,” I remarked dryly, as we ascended
the stairs which communicated with my rooms by a rear door, so that we
could avoid the entrance. I heard Touchet stumbling through the house,
evidently roused from a nap, for he was slow, and there was a second
summons before he unbarred the door. Zénaïde followed me to the head of
the stairs, and we stood looking down into the lower hall. When the
door was opened, several persons immediately crowded into the entrance,
and I at once suspected who were our visitors, and in another moment a
sharp female voice confirmed my conclusion.
“Where is the marshal, and where is Madame de Brousson?” she exclaimed.
It was Madame Zotof, and she pushed past Touchet and began to come up
the stairs before her husband could collect himself for the attack.
It was characteristic of madame, who was always at the front of the
battle, and she was eager now for the fray. As I saw her on the stair,
I glanced at Zénaïde and smiled. Madame de Brousson was looking down
at her with a peculiar expression in her blue eyes, and knowing, as I
did, her estimate of Madame Zotof, I wondered a little what thoughts
were in her mind, as she stood there with unruffled composure awaiting
the onslaught. It was not until she was half-way up the stairs that
Madame Zotof looked up and saw us standing at the top; then she paused
an instant, and eyed us with that keen, ill-tempered look of hers, her
thin face and shrewish mouth showing in the glare of the taper that
Touchet had set upon the landing.
“I am fortunate to find you awake at this hour,” she remarked sharply.
“And we are fortunate to receive you at any hour, madame,” Zénaïde
replied suavely, “even if it is at a time when we usually seek repose.”
Madame Zotof looked at her keenly, suspicious of her opponent’s smooth
courtesy.
“It is evident that I did not rouse you,” she retorted tartly. “You do
not look as if you had come from your couch.”
By this time the councillor had come up the stair and stood behind
his wife, a few steps below us. Zénaïde, ignoring madame’s reply,
greeted him with quiet courtesy, and invited them to enter the _salon_,
ordering Touchet to bring fresh tapers, for those upon the table were
already exhausted. Madame Zotof, with an eager air, hurried into the
room behind my wife, and looked about, apparently for some token of
her truant niece, but there was no sign of her recent presence. The
apartment was in order, and the logs had burned down on the hearth, so
that there was a chill in the atmosphere. Zotof, following his wife,
stood in the center of the room, but seemed conscious that, for the
time, there was no need of speech from him, madame, as usual, taking
the lead.
“Be seated by the fire, for it grows cold here,” Zénaïde said easily;
“and, Touchet, bring hither some wine.”
“We do not want it,” Madame Zotof exclaimed angrily; “we did not come
out at two in the morning for entertainment. I came here for that mad
niece of ours, Madame de Brousson, and I would thank you to order her
to join me immediately; her conduct is unpardonable.”
Zénaïde looked at her with mild surprise. “You labor under a delusion,
Madame Zotof,” she said gently; “mademoiselle your niece is not here.”
Madame Zotof stared at her with exasperation showing in every line of
her face.
“It is you, Madame de Brousson, who labor under a mistake,” she replied
with a mocking imitation of Zénaïde’s manner. “A little bird told me
that my niece was here, and that it would be wise for you to surrender
her to her guardians.”
Zénaïde smiled. “It is unwise to listen to the counsel of little birds,
madame,” she remarked sweetly, “since your little bird was possessed of
the spirit of untruth.”
“It was not so small a bird as you think,” Madame Zotof exclaimed. “It
was a double-headed eagle, and it spoke the truth.”
“How could it,” Zénaïde said with a little laugh, “since it was
double-tongued and therefore versed in duplicity?”
“Beware, madame!” cried Madame Zotof; “the eagle knows how to avenge
both insult and injury.”
My wife’s face flushed with quick indignation. “Threats are wasted upon
me, Madame Zotof,” she said haughtily; “I am not so poor a coward as to
fear even an imperial eagle.”
“You will find that it has both beak and talons, madame,” the other
woman replied.
“Have done with this, wife,” Zotof exclaimed suddenly. “What profit
is it? In plain language, M. le Maréchal, his imperial Majesty has
notified us that my niece is in your house, and commanded us to take
her away. We must obey.”
“That may be, M. Zotof,” I replied haughtily; “but it does not signify
that a marshal of France must obey you.”
He looked at me gravely, evidently embarrassed by the position in which
he found himself, but stubbornly determined to obey the czar.
“It is true, M. le Vicomte,” he said, “that I cannot compel you to obey
my master, yet we are in Moscow, and the King of France does not reign
here. However, I ask you, as one man may ask another, in all courtesy,
to deliver my niece into my hands.”
“And I reply in the same spirit, monsieur, that your niece is not in my
house,” I said courteously.
He seemed for the moment perplexed; but Madame Zotof grasped the truth
of the matter at once.
“She was here,” she exclaimed in her high voice. “Where have you sent
her?”
“Madame forgets,” interposed Zénaïde, suavely, “that if she cannot
control her own niece, it is certainly not in our power to do so; that
is demanding a good deal of two strangers.”
The other woman turned upon her with a flash of temper. “Perhaps,
Madame de Brousson,” she said hotly, “you can also repudiate your
knowledge of M. de Lambert’s persistent pursuit of Mademoiselle Zotof.”
My wife smiled, her composure still unruffled. “I do not venture to
account for the love affairs of M. de Brousson’s suite,” she said
suavely; “it is customary in France for the families of the two young
people to manage these matters.”
“And customary for French people out of France to aid and abet a young
gallant in his pursuit of another man’s niece,” Madame Zotof retorted
sharply.
“I really cannot say, madame,” Zénaïde replied with naïveté, “for, you
know, I am myself a Russian.”
Madame Zotof stood biting her lip, too angry to keep up the play of
words, and her husband was red with impatience. I regarded the scene
with intense enjoyment. It was a fair match between two women, and
Zénaïde, having the better command of her temper and the sharper wit,
was lashing her opponent to fury. Meanwhile every moment’s delay was
precious to mademoiselle. Zotof took matters into his own hands; he
went to Zénaïde, and looked at her with almost an appeal in his eyes.
“Madame,” he said, “be kind enough to produce my niece.”
Madame de Brousson threw out her hands with a comic gesture of despair.
“M. Zotof,” she exclaimed, “I am not a magician! Mademoiselle is not
here.”
“I should like to look behind you in those rooms,” cried Madame Zotof,
pointing her finger at the door that led into the other apartments.
Zénaïde, seeing instantly an opportunity for delay, was all
complaisance.
“You shall be gratified,” she said sweetly. “Philippe, lead us with a
light.”
Madame Zotof was a little dashed by her ready compliance, but, still
full of suspicion, followed her closely, as I took the taper, and,
opening the door, conducted them slowly through the rooms. Zénaïde
consumed much time by insisting that Madame Zotof should look behind
every arras and into every cupboard, and Madame, full of doubt and
eagerness, peered into the crevices and behind the doors; her husband
following with a stolid obstinacy that did not permit him to see
how entirely they were playing into my wife’s hands. As we passed
on without success, madame’s face fell, and I saw the suspicion in
her pale eyes grow more intense as she began to realize that there
was a possibility that her niece had evaded her, even though we were
both in the house. At the door of my wife’s apartment I detained the
councillor, and the two women went in alone, while we stood on the
threshold. It was a strange scene; the room was brightly lighted both
with tapers and by the logs blazing on the hearth. The walls were
covered with tapestries, and Madame Zotof went about lifting them up
and searching for the truant, while Zénaïde stood in the center of
the room, her figure clearly outlined in its dignified repose, and a
smile of scorn on her face, her blue eyes following the other woman’s
quick movements. Never were two women so strongly contrasted; the
fine form and stately head of Madame de Brousson dwarfing the smaller
figure of Madame Zotof, whose face was naturally homely and shrewish;
her eyes of that cold, pale blue that is opaque, and her mouth like a
slit, while her chin projected. She had too an affectation of youth
that was absurd. When she had quite completed her investigation and
was satisfied that mademoiselle was not there, she paused a moment
confounded.
“You have had the pleasure of searching my house, Madame Zotof,”
Zénaïde said with a cold smile, “and now I have the pleasure of asking
you to leave it with what speed you may.”
She spoke with scorn, and Madame Zotof recoiled before the unexpected
attack; she felt that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety, and
that my wife was justified in her retort. After a moment she recovered
and made a sweeping curtsy.
“You carry things with a high hand, madame,” she said bitterly, “but
his Majesty the Czar will have satisfaction. You cannot spirit away my
niece without accounting for it.”
“You speak wildly,” replied Zénaïde, haughtily; “from your own
statement, I understand that your niece has gone, and you are searching
for her, but I see no reason for the accusation that I took her from
your house. It is absurd!”
“You may not have taken her from my house, but you certainly sent her
from yours,” madame replied quickly.
“That is your conclusion, madame,” Zénaïde said calmly; “and if you are
quite done with your search, I will bid you good-morning, for I find
myself in sore need of repose.”
“Do not allow me to disturb you,” Madame Zotof retorted with mock
courtesy; “my husband and I will withdraw instantly, and report to the
czar that you have found means to despatch Najine to some unknown spot.”
“As you will, madame,” Zénaïde retorted with assumed weariness; “but be
careful to adhere to the truth, for sometimes kings are exacting.”
Madame Zotof grew red with anger. “Madame is kind,” she exclaimed;
“on my word, I never received such treatment. I am requested to go,
and accused of falsehood in a breath. Truly, French manners have not
improved the Russian woman.”
Zénaïde had her hand on the door in the act of closing it upon the
other, but she paused with a little soft laugh of disdain.
“I am rebuked, madame,” she said lightly, “but you must remember that
the provocation was great;” and with that she shut the door, leaving
me with the pair upon my hands,--M. Zotof angry and embarrassed, and
madame fuming with passion but still ready to lead.
“Come, Zotof,” she said curtly, passing me without a glance; “it is a
waste of time to dally here. Najine has duped us again. Why stand there
gaping? Find a way out of this difficulty!” and she walked on before us
like a huge bird whose plumage had been ruffled in the fray.
“Permit me to conduct you, madame,” I said graciously, advancing with
the light; “the stairs are dark and somewhat steep.”
“Nay, I shall not break my neck,” she retorted with a discordant
laugh; “I am sure of foot. You will be sorry for this night’s work, M.
l’Ambassadeur.”
“That is true,” said Zotof, as he came slowly down behind us. “I am
truly sorry, M. le Maréchal, that you have mixed yourself up in this
matter.”
“I thank you for your solicitude, monsieur and madame both,” I replied,
shading the taper from the wind, for Touchet had already opened the
door and their attendants were waiting at the threshold. “I trust,
however, that I shall surmount the embarrassments of the occasion, and
hope that the king my master will not resent the discourtesy shown to
his subjects.”
At this Zotof stopped with his mouth open, his breath coming fast, for
he was a very stout man. It was obviously a new light on the situation;
but madame chose to ignore it, merely gathering her skirts about her as
if she shook off the dust of my dwelling.
“I should like,” she remarked, eying me keenly, “to know where M. de
Lambert is at this moment.”
I smiled. “Madame asks too much of me,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
“I am not omniscient.”
“You have a devil of diplomacy, monsieur,” she retorted sharply; then
turning on her stout and slow moving lord, “Come, come, Zotof, we have
been fools long enough; the day is breaking.”
But he let her go out, and then, pausing on the threshold, looked back
at me.
“I may have seemed discourteous, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he said too low for
her ears; “but women will be women, and we came at the command of--of
one in authority.”
“Of the czar, monsieur,” I replied with a frankness that made him
wince. “I understand, and bear you no ill-will; but, M. Zotof, no
Frenchman endures such impertinence with patience; therefore let this
be the last time that either you or madame your wife trespass upon my
hospitality after such a fashion;” and with this I closed the door
sharply in his face.