NAJINE.
MADAME DE BROUSSON and I stood looking at each other in silence. What
miracle was this? In another moment there were steps upon the stair,
and Najine rushed into the room followed by her woman, both of them
cloaked and travel-stained. Mademoiselle ran up to me, and, throwing
back her hood, showed a pale face and eyes shining with excitement.
“Oh, tell me that it is not true!” she cried incoherently; “tell me
that I am deceived, that Guillaume is free!”
I looked at her in astonishment; by what witchcraft had she learned of
her lover’s imprisonment? Reading in my face and in my hesitation a
confirmation of her worst fears, she stamped her foot upon the floor
with an outburst of anger that sent the blood to her cheeks.
“How could you permit it? You, an ambassador! How dare they molest him?
He has done no wrong,” she cried.
“Bear with me, mademoiselle,” I replied soothingly; “it was scarcely my
fault, and you must remember that in the eyes of the czar he has done
grave wrong.”
She looked at me amazed, not at first understanding, and I smiled.
“M. de Lambert loves you, mademoiselle,” I explained quietly, “and that
is a sufficient sin in his Majesty’s eyes.”
She flushed, and her glance kindled. “Then he must imprison me also,”
she exclaimed, “for I, too, am in error. Why should I not be likewise
arrested? I love M. de Lambert.”
“Would that he could hear you and see you now, mademoiselle!” I
said, for never had she looked more beautiful than in her passionate
excitement; her spirited face aglow with emotion, and her blue eyes
almost black in their dilation. At my words she recollected her
position and blushed, her dark lashes suddenly veiling her glance. She
was charming. Zénaïde, seeing her confusion, took her hand and drew her
down upon the seat beside her.
“My dear,” she said kindly, “tell us how you learned so quickly of M.
de Lambert’s misfortune.”
“Through Neonila,” she replied; and told us briefly that her woman had
left word with a faithful relative of their probable refuge, and he
had sent instant tidings of M. de Lambert’s fate, learned at once from
one of Zotof’s serfs. Najine had acted with her usual impulsiveness,
turning a deaf ear to the warnings and remonstrances of her aunt.
While she was talking to my wife, I went out, in time to detain the
Swede until I could arrange matters with her, for doubtless she could
help us in the execution of our scheme, and returning I unfolded it.
Her first thought was one of passionate indignation against Apraxin,
whom she despised. Indeed, it was probably the sting of her scorn that
spurred him on to many of his acts of treachery and revenge.
“A sullen boy,” she said with her quick disdain; “I was betrothed to
him as a child, but would never have married him.”
“We must have this boy, though, mademoiselle,” I remarked, “and, if it
can be, without bloodshed. Mayhap, you can devise some way to compass
our design.”
She sat thinking for a while. “I will write a line to accompany the
ribbon,” she said at last; “nothing is easier, and it will convince
him. He is not clever, only cunning. Give me a bit of paper, madame,
and a pen, and the deed is soon done.”
I had both at hand, and passed them to her; but she paused with the pen
suspended in mid air and looked at me with sudden reproach.
“What a traitor you make me, monsieur!” she exclaimed; “here am I
striving to decoy Apraxin into a trap!”
“Treachery begets treachery, mademoiselle,” I replied; “and he intended
death, while we--” I laughed and shrugged my shoulders.
She remained thoughtful, with her hand suspended above the paper; then,
bending over, she wrote her message and pushed it toward me.
“It is done, M. le Vicomte,” she said gravely. “I have done for M. de
Lambert what I would not do for myself; I have written an untruth--or
that which is the same as an untruth. But no harm must come of it, even
to a traitor, and I must go with the Swede and your equerry.”
“We will both go, mademoiselle,” I responded cheerfully, “and I
apprehend no mischief, for I do not think your quondam _fiancé_ loves
an open fight.”
Her lip curled scornfully. “He is a coward,” she said; “he was always a
coward. I never knew him, even as a lad, to fight his equal, but always
some puny boy who could not strike again, or the child of a serf.”
“And yet,” I remarked thoughtfully, “he dared the wrath of the czar.”
“He must have been flushed with wine,” mademoiselle replied
disdainfully; “indeed, I heard my uncle say so.”
“I do not think your uncle loves him,” I said.
“He never did,” she rejoined; “Yury was called my aunt’s nephew and was
her favorite. She spoiled him as a child, and even now would champion
his cause if she did not see a vision of a greater climax to her
ambition. She could not understand my dislike for the miserable boy.”
I looked at mademoiselle and smiled. How hard Madame Zotof must have
found it to put a curb upon that proud young spirit, and how eternal
must have been the clash between them!
I took her missive to the Swede, and sent him upon his errand. The
hour appointed for the tryst was at daybreak, as the night was now far
advanced, and it would be impracticable to attempt a meeting before
the morning. We all chafed at the delay, but it was inevitable, and we
were forced to be content with the progress we had made. Najine sat
with us over the fire into the small hours before my wife persuaded her
to rest after her long and rapid journey. She was the personification
of youth and vigor, determined, energetic, vivacious. I saw clearly
the attraction that had won the heart of the czar. Here was a complete
contrast to the ignorant and bigoted Eudoxia; to the unfaithful German,
Anna Mons; a contrast even greater, too, to the beauty and passion
of the Livonian peasant girl. Here was a young woman, beautiful
and charming, with a ready wit and a pure mind; spirited, gay,
quick-tempered; the very woman to attract and hold the fancy of a man
like the czar. I watched her as she sat at my fireside in her simple
garb, the cloak laid aside and the outlines of her graceful figure
clearly defined, her proud head setting so handsomely on her shoulders,
and the color varying on her cheeks as the light varied in her dark
blue eyes. My wife and I were opposite to her and observed her, both
fascinated by the picture that she made. Zénaïde had always been almost
entirely French, by instinct, by education, by inclination, in spite of
her Russian birth; but mademoiselle was wholly Russian, and interested
me as a type of another nation. She told us of her journey back from
Troïtsa, of the hard riding and the dangers of being discovered by some
of Zotof’s household or his friends, for she had no doubt that by this
time her guardians knew of her flight to her aunt.
“You have a brave spirit, mademoiselle,” I said quietly; “it was a long
and lonely journey, and you had no escort but your woman.”
She looked at me and smiled. “I am a soldier’s daughter,” she replied
proudly; “I have never known what it was to be afraid.”
“_Bien_, mademoiselle,” I replied; “and soon, if all goes well, you
will be a soldier’s wife.”
She blushed prettily, and laughed. “I must endeavor to be brave enough,
M. le Maréchal, to be worthy to be the wife of a soldier of France,”
she said sweetly.
I made her an obeisance. “France is honored, mademoiselle,” I said,
smiling; “but truly, I know no braver man than this same Guillaume de
Lambert, and the only fault I find in him is that of young blood, too
great an impetuosity.”
“I remember the day, Najine,” laughed Zénaïde, “when Philippe de
Brousson was as headstrong as any boy that he can name, and so
impetuous that there is many a long chapter of the accidents which
befell him. He has grown grave now, and preaches to the young upon the
faults in which he himself excelled. Take heart, mademoiselle, M. de
Lambert will yet emerge triumphant.”
“I do not doubt it,” Najine replied with spirit; “a brave man deserves
success.”
I smiled at their confidence. The Kremlin was a grim place, and M.
de Lambert was behind strong bars and in the power of a man whose
resolution was iron, and whose natural generosity was frequently
obscured by those bursts of passion which swept all before them.
However, it would have been not only useless but ill-advised to intrude
my doubts upon Najine’s sanguine mood, and I remained silent. Indeed,
I had ample food for reflection, for I found the situation becoming
hourly more complicated. I had believed that she was safe with her aunt
and that I was free of that responsibility, but she had returned upon
my hands, in time, it was true, to aid me, but also at the moment when
her presence under my roof would be the keenest embarrassment. Yet
where to send her I knew not, and she appeared to be unconscious of
the difficulty that her arrival created. I slept but little, and rose
with the first peep of dawn, determined to accomplish something on that
day, if it was within human possibility. In spite of her fatiguing
journey, mademoiselle was up nearly as early, and she and her woman
were ready to attend me at the appointed hour. Taking both Pierrot and
Touchet, we proceeded at once. The spot appointed for the meeting was
a narrow lane behind the palace of Mentchikof, flanked on one side by
the blank wall of the kitchen wing, and on the other by the low wall of
a courtyard belonging to a deserted building. This court opened upon
the lane by a postern, which was never closed because of the rusted and
broken hinges; and it was behind this door that I intended to conceal
my party, while mademoiselle and her woman were to come apparently from
the side entrance of Mentchikof’s house, thus disarming the suspicion
of her cousin, who would probably enter the lane from the north. The
signal appointed for his approach, two low whistles, was to summon
Najine from her hiding-place behind the buttress of Mentchikof’s
palace, while I could approach unseen when Apraxin became engaged in
conversation with her. It was a trap, and it was a question whether he
would be fool enough to enter it or not. Mademoiselle, who knew him
well, was confident of success, but I was less sanguine. On reaching
our destination, we were met by the Swede with the report that his part
of the compact had been successfully executed, and nothing remained but
to take our places and wait for the development of the plot. It had
been arranged that Najine should engage him in conversation and draw
from him, if possible, a confession of his part in the arrest of M. de
Lambert.
It was a raw morning, and the sky was dark with heavy clouds; now and
then a few flakes of snow fell, and then a keen gust of wind blew
them away. We stood shivering under our heavy cloaks in our place of
concealment. I was nearest the postern, and from my position commanded
the spot where mademoiselle and Neonila waited. It seemed a long time
before there was any indication of the approach of our victim, and I
began to think that he had been keen enough to suspect a trap and to
avoid it. But at last there was a low whistle, followed by another,
and Pierrot, climbing up, looked over the wall; by getting his eyes
above the level of the top he could see the north end of the lane, from
which, as we had expected, the signal came.
“Is it he?” I asked in an undertone.
Pierrot made a sign in the affirmative.
“Alone?” I inquired again.
Pierrot dropped from his place and came to me softly.
“He has but one attendant,” he whispered; “and they advance with
caution.”
I made a sign to him to be still, and we stood watching and listening.
Mademoiselle at the first whistle had come from her shelter, and
walked along the lane, followed by her woman, until she reached the
postern; there she halted, so that we could both see them and hear
the conversation which ensued. Seeing only the two women, Apraxin was
relieved of his anxiety, and advanced boldly to meet her, leaving his
man a little in the rear. At his approach, Najine slightly raised her
veil, meeting him with some embarrassment, which was really due to her
hatred of the part that she was compelled to play.
“I thank you for coming so promptly,” she said quietly. “I scarcely
hoped that you would receive my missive.”
“You have given us much anxiety and trouble, Najine,” he exclaimed
sharply, with a note of authority in his tone; “how is it that you
fly to the house of that Frenchman Brousson, and reappear at that of
Mentchikof? It is time that you rendered an account of your conduct.”
Mademoiselle gave him a haughty glance. “I did not come here to account
to you, Yury Ivanovitch,” she replied coldly, “nor do I think you have
any right to reproach me; that belongs to my uncle.”
“Come, come, Najine,” he said easily, “do not pick a quarrel with me.
I have come to take you to your uncle, and I doubt not that he will be
so overjoyed at your return that he will require no account from you;
therefore let us lose no time.”
He made a movement to take her hand to lead her away, but she repelled
him with a petulant gesture.
“Nay,” she said steadily; “I will not give you my hand until you
can prove worthy to touch it. I have heard evil things of you, Yury
Apraxin. A man who would stab another unawares is a coward and an
assassin.”
He started at her words, and his face flushed darkly.
“On my word!” he exclaimed passionately, “you have a shrew’s tongue in
your head, fair relative; if you were a man, I would resent it.”
Najine laughed bitterly. “Doubtless,” she said dryly, “since I am the
weaker of the two. A fair fight I could forgive, but I am sorry that a
friend of mine can plan assassination and betray an innocent man into
the hands of his enemies!”
Apraxin looked at her with a sneer on his face.
“I marvel at your boldness,” he said mockingly, “I would expect a
modest maiden to hold her peace instead of quarrelling for the love of
a Frenchman who doubtless has a sweetheart at home. For shame, Najine!
you are a disgrace to your family, running about Moscow in search of
this malapert coxcomb of a foreigner. It is well for you that he is
safely out of your way,” he added with his unpleasant laugh.
Mademoiselle had flushed and paled during his speech, and I saw that
she was quivering with anger and excitement, but she did not forget
her rôle.
“You have murdered him,” she cried with affected despair. “I will
denounce you to the czar.”
Apraxin laughed outright. “Have a care, Najine,” he said. “I have not
murdered him, but the czar will.”
“What do you mean?” she cried with an agitation more real than
affected. “The czar has given him his passports; it is you who have
detained him.”
“Not so, mademoiselle,” Apraxin replied, mocking her. “I helped him
into the hands of the czar’s officers; that is all.”
“You mock me,” she said bitterly; “he would not follow you.”
Apraxin laughed again; he was enjoying his triumph to the full.
“Nay,” he replied gayly, “he did not follow me, fair damsel, but I
sent a lad to him with a message telling him that he must come to
the refectory of the Miracle Monastery for certain tidings on which
depended your safety. There I led the imperial officers, for the
captain of the watch had told me that his instructions were to take M.
de Lambert, if he came within the Kremlin, and to imprison him to await
his Majesty’s pleasure; so what more had I to do? It was easy; and
monsieur, like the fool he is, fell into the snare.”
“You are a traitor!” mademoiselle cried passionately, “and deserve a
traitor’s recompense.”
It was the signal. M. Apraxin’s back was toward me, and he was
practically alone with Najine, for both her woman and his attendant
had withdrawn to quite a distance. I walked out and laid a heavy hand
upon his shoulder, while with the other I drew the pistol from his
belt. Taken unawares, he started back and tried to throw me off, but
in a moment the Swede had him upon the other side, and we disarmed
him. Pierrot ran after his man; but the fellow, a miserable caitiff,
had taken flight at the first alarm, and showed so clean a pair of
heels that Pierrot was forced to give up the chase and returned very
short of breath, for he was no longer young or fleet of foot. After the
first violent struggle Apraxin yielded with sullen acquiescence, and
walked between us down the lane. The scuffle had been brief and almost
noiseless, so that no one saw us as we left the spot. Mademoiselle and
her woman stood aside for us to pass, intending to follow with my two
equerries. Our prisoner cast a glance of hatred at her as he walked
past.
“Traitress!” he cried between his teeth, “this is your revenge!”
Poor Najine! her cheek flushed scarlet, for she despised her task.