AN INTERVAL OF SUSPENSE.
AS soon as Apraxin was secured, I went to the palace of Mentchikof,
knowing that I had no time to lose; my captive’s attendant would bear
the tidings of his seizure to his uncle, and there would be some
decisive action at once, on one side or the other. The czar’s feeling
toward Apraxin might tie Zotof’s hands for the moment, but it was
probable that the servant had recognized mademoiselle and would report
her presence to her uncle. I reached Mentchikof’s house at an hour
when he was not receiving visitors, but after a little parley with the
porter, was admitted and only waited a few minutes in the ante-room
before being summoned to the favorite’s presence. He had just risen,
and he received me in his own apartment, which was as luxurious as the
bed-chamber of an emperor. He had heard enough of my conversation with
the czar on the previous evening to be aware of my troubles, and was
therefore prepared to listen to my complaint. I told him briefly of
the course of events and of the successful capture of Apraxin. I was
tolerably frank with him, knowing that I needed both his good-will
and his assistance, for he was the only one on whom I could rely for
any material aid. I concealed only the presence of Najine, for I was
anxious to leave her out of the affair and, if possible, to hide the
fact that she was at my lodgings. Mentchikof listened to me with keen
attention, and I saw, at once, that he was striving to see some way
out of the labyrinth. Mademoiselle’s headstrong conduct and her open
aversion to the czar’s suit were both points in our favor, for Peter
was one to resent keenly the ridicule that they naturally threw upon
his course.
“It is a delicate matter, M. le Maréchal,” Mentchikof remarked
thoughtfully. “The czar has undoubtedly imprisoned M. de Lambert. He
probably ordered his arrest in one of those moments of ungovernable
passion when he takes little account of what he does, but, having taken
this rash action, it is difficult for him to recede from it.”
“That is true, monsieur,” I replied gravely; “but such action involves
an offence to France, and that is a point that his Majesty will do well
to consider.”
Mentchikof, who was, before all else, a Russian, resented my tone at
once.
“You know very well, M. de Brousson,” he said haughtily, “that the czar
my master is too proud and passionate a man to count the costs, even if
Russia had cause to fear.”
I did not desire to offend him, and let his reply pass unnoticed.
“His Majesty should however consider the injustice, M. Mentchikof,” I
said courteously. “M. de Lambert is an innocent man, and as a foreigner
has a claim upon your forbearance.”
“I recognize the justice of what you say, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he replied
calmly; “but the czar is human, and M. de Lambert has offended him.
Perhaps, you or I in like case would be even less merciful.”
I smiled. “That may be, monsieur,” I said, “but you or I would seek
redress with our swords. Prison walls are safe, but it seems a poor
revenge.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “A safe one, M. de Brousson,” he replied
coolly; “a sword-thrust and six feet of earth are cold satisfaction for
a man in love.”
“That is true,” I said, smiling; “but prison walls are equally hard for
M. de Lambert, therefore I crave your assistance to liberate him. I had
thought of taking Apraxin to the czar and demanding my friend’s release
from the custody into which Apraxin has betrayed him.”
“Taking the ground that his Majesty is ignorant of the conduct of his
guards?” Mentchikof asked. “I see, monsieur. That is the only possible
way of touching the matter. I have no doubt that the czar is ignorant
of Apraxin’s share in it, but we cannot tell what effect it would have
upon him. The czar despises Apraxin, but he may, for the time, pass
that over. On the other hand, the introduction of the fellow’s name may
bring forth a burst of passion that might end in the reverse of your
wishes. And again, Apraxin may eventually injure the cause of Zotof and
of--his niece.”
“I have foreseen all that, monsieur,” I replied gravely, “yet it seems
the only hope. It is more probable that the czar will be seized with
disgust of the whole affair when he finds that Apraxin regards Najine
as his betrothed, and betrayed M. de Lambert to get rid of a successful
rival.”
Mentchikof rose, and walked up and down the room for a few moments,
thinking deeply. The matter was close to his heart: it involved his own
hold upon the affections of his master; it threatened the destruction
of some of his dearest hopes and schemes. I watched him keenly,
wondering a little what thoughts were in his mind,--if he was picturing
his own success or his defeat; if he saw before him the triumph of his
rivals, the obscurity of Catherine Shavronsky, and his own ruin, for
the loss of favor would mean the total collapse of his fortunes. He was
an extravagant man, and his debts were colossal, while his credit was
tottering at the caprice of the czar’s favor. His hold upon Peter’s
affections was strong, his influence had been almost unbounded; but
the favorite of royalty keeps his place by but feeble tenure, and if
the czar followed the impulse of his passion for mademoiselle, a new
party would inevitably come into power, and Mentchikof’s arrogance
would be remembered and revenged. I regarded him with interest. A man
richly endowed in person and in mental qualities; handsome, brave,
magnetic; possessed of a winning address and a pungent wit, and withal,
a gallant soldier and a shrewd statesman,--he was a man to captivate
and hold the fancy of almost any one who approached him, and I did
not condemn Daria Arsenief for her infatuation; all the court knew
that she was devoted to Alexander Mentchikof, and I had heard it said
that Peter desired that he should marry her, while he was yet either
unwilling or not ready to comply with his master’s wishes. He paced the
room now for five minutes or more, and I did not interrupt his revery,
willing to allow him full time to mature his own plans; but before he
spoke again, a little page brought him a message from Mademoiselle
Shavronsky, asking if she might join us, as she desired to see the
Vicomte de Brousson. For an instant Mentchikof looked annoyed, and
then, recovering himself, sent for her to appear. When the page reared
with his message, he looked at me and smiled.
“Catherine must needs manage this herself,” he said dryly; “womanlike,
she believes that she can always find the end of the tangled skein.”
“A woman’s wit is keen,” I replied, “and it may be that she will see a
way that we cannot discover.”
“It may be,” he rejoined with a shrug; “but she has already done
mischief enough to her own affairs, and yet she is a clever woman--a
woman worthy to rule,” he added to himself.
As he spoke, the door opened and Catherine Shavronsky came in, attended
only by a little Russian girl. Catherine’s face was pale, but more
composed than when I had last seen her, and she responded to my
greeting graciously. She was attired in some plain dark robe, and her
figure looked less massive than usual, and there was something almost
girlish in the simple earnestness of her manner.
“You have tidings, M. le Maréchal,” she said directly; “I trust that
they are better than the last. Is M. de Lambert at liberty?”
I shook my head.
“What?” she exclaimed, “in prison still? Has no one appealed to the
czar?”
Mentchikof cut short her inquiries by informing her briefly of my
errand and my failures and successes. She listened with impatience,
evidently regarding us both as laggards, and she was restless to
achieve some better fortune. When he had finished speaking, she turned
upon me suddenly with a searching look.
“Where is Najine Zotof?” she asked sharply.
For the moment I was taken by surprise and returned her look blankly. I
had no desire to communicate to her mademoiselle’s hiding-place. She
read me through and through with those keen dark eyes of hers, and her
full lips curled with a contemptuous smile.
“Do not try to deceive me, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she said dryly; “the
fine-spun excuses of the court will not pass with me. You know where
mademoiselle is; why does she not come forward and plead for her lover
herself? If I were M. de Lambert, I would not value such faint-hearted
loyalty.”
“You take a strong view, mademoiselle,” I replied gravely; “it is a
difficult point to decide whether or not Mademoiselle Zotof’s presence
would injure her cause.”
“Try it,” she exclaimed warmly. “I know the czar. She can do more than
fifty diplomats for her lover. I tell you frankly, M. le Vicomte, that
if I were in mademoiselle’s place I would appeal to his Majesty at
once. I would not lose a moment. I would trust to his generosity--his
natural kindness. His Majesty is always approachable, and to no one
does simple devotion appeal more strongly. He is the czar, but he is
also human.”
Mentchikof had listened in silence, observing her animated features,
impressed no doubt, as much as I was, by the impetuosity of her manner.
When she ceased speaking, he turned to me gravely.
“Catherine is right,” he said; “the czar is more likely to show mercy
to Mademoiselle Zotof than to M. de Lambert--and you could not make
such an appeal. Najine can do so, and it may help in a hundred ways;”
and he looked at me with a meaning smile.
And I, remembering his threat of a few weeks ago, stood irresolute.
Could I trust these two, or was it a scheme to injure mademoiselle?
They certainly would not plan to place her in the czar’s way if they
believed that it would encourage his passion for her; but what did they
intend? I looked at the two faces, and for the time felt thoroughly at
sea. Their motives were apparently innocent, but how far could I trust
Mentchikof? How far Catherine? Ah, that was the question! Unable to
decide at the moment, I temporized.
“And how could she make this appeal?” I inquired calmly, glancing from
one to the other.
“She can go direct to the palace and make the petition when the czar
gives audience to all complainants,” Mentchikof replied. “It would be
ill-advised for her to make it in private; his Majesty might easily put
such an appeal aside, but a public one would attract attention and--in
a word, you understand, M. l’Ambassadeur, he has no real reason to keep
a member of your suite in prison.”
“To be frank, M. Mentchikof,” I said, “your plan strikes me as
feasible; but, after all, it is like playing at dice, and it is a throw
in the dark.”
Catherine had been silent for a little time, but now interrupted us
again.
“I have a scheme, Alexander,” she said with excitement; “let her come
here to-night!”
“True!” he exclaimed, “that would be best. The czar comes here
to-night,” he added to me, “for the first time for weeks. Let
mademoiselle make her petition to him; she will have the better
opportunity, for Zotof will not come.”
I saw the advantages of the opportunity, but I saw also some perils,
and was not eager to acquiesce. Mentchikof read my hesitation and
smiled.
“M. l’Ambassadeur,” he said graciously, “I pledge you my word, as a
soldier and a gentleman, that Mademoiselle Zotof shall be safe in my
house. Not even his Majesty shall violate my hospitality.”
I bowed gravely. “I thank you, monsieur,” I replied with dignity,
“for the assurance. I will communicate with mademoiselle: I am, not
unnaturally, reluctant to assume the responsibility. The young lady is
the niece of Zotof, and I have no right to interfere with her actions;
but my anxiety for M. de Lambert is so keen that I shall not lose the
opportunity to appeal to her for assistance.”
“You will do well, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he replied, with a reflection of
my dignified courtesy, “and I trust that she will find the czar’s humor
propitious.”
“I trust so,” I replied quietly, “for I should regret extremely
being forced to call upon my government to take cognizance of this
matter,--an action which will be inevitable if I cannot obtain M. de
Lambert’s release in a short time.”
Mentchikof’s cheek flushed; he resented instantly the covert thrust,
but restrained his temper.
“We will hope for a happy issue, M. de Brousson,” he replied haughtily,
“and I doubt not that we shall succeed, if Mademoiselle Zotof is
sincere in her desire to release her lover.”
“Do not doubt her sincerity, monsieur,” I returned calmly, “and I
will do my best to achieve a happy result, and will communicate with
mademoiselle as soon as possible;” and with a few more formal words, I
withdrew.
Leaving the apartment, I walked slowly down the long _salon_ beyond,
and had my hand on the door at the farther end, when I heard the rustle
of a woman’s skirt behind me, and turned to find Catherine Shavronsky
at my elbow. She had never looked more charming; her face, though pale,
was animated, and a roguish smile curved her beautiful lips and kindled
the fire in her large dark eyes. She stopped a little way from me, and
held up her finger with a gesture of mock rebuke.
“Alas, M. l’Ambassadeur!” she said archly, “how will you be able to
find mademoiselle? The czar cannot find her, Madame Zotof cannot find
her, and you--you do not know where she is. How can your message reach
her? Ah, M. le Vicomte--M. le Vicomte!”
She stood there laughing, and shaking her finger at me. I made her a
profound bow.
“Mademoiselle,” I replied, smiling, “you forget for whom she will be
summoned. Love will find out the way!”
And with that I went out at the door; but she came and stood upon the
threshold, and called to me as I went down the corridor.
“That cannot be, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she cried, “for they say that love
is blind!”