MADAME ZOTOF.
MADAME DE BROUSSON and I walked slowly toward our quarters, attended
by Pierrot. As we approached the house, I heard Zénaïde laugh softly.
“Now we must face Madame Zotof,” she said in an amused tone. “I have no
doubt that she is waiting for us.”
“Unless she has gone in search of us elsewhere,” I replied.
“She is there, I think,” Zénaïde said quietly; “I can see some persons
at the door. Madame has the patience of obstinacy.”
“I trust that it is only madame,” I remarked gravely; “it is a long
time for her to wait, for the dawn is breaking in the east.”
“You will find that it is she,” Zénaïde returned.
In a few moments her words were verified. There were three figures
at the door; and as we approached, a woman came forward, and we were
greeted by madame’s high voice.
“So you have come at last, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she exclaimed shrilly.
“M. Zotof is searching the town for you, but I simply waited here. Who
is that with you?”
“It is I, Madame Zotof,” Zénaïde replied pleasantly. “I did not expect
visitors at this early hour, but I will endeavor to receive you with
appropriate courtesy.”
“I thank you,” madame replied with mocking suavity. “I remember yet the
cordiality of your last reception, Madame de Brousson, but I am even
forced to trespass upon your hospitality once more.”
Remembering that I had protested against the former visit, I smiled a
little, especially when I thought that they had not dared to force an
entrance, although they must have been full of impatience and furious
at the delay. Pierrot had entered at the rear, and coming through
the house opened the door for us. The gray light of early dawn was
breaking through the darkness without, but within the tapers were still
burning, and their radiance seemed dingy and yellowish in contrast to
the growing light at the windows, from which Pierrot was removing the
shutters. Zénaïde led the way up the stairs, and, entering the small
_salon_, laid aside her mantle and turned calmly to Madame Zotof.
“And now, madame,” she said quietly, “I am at your service.”
“I come on the old quest, Madame de Brousson,” she replied haughtily;
“where is my niece?”
Zénaïde smiled. “Not here certainly,” she returned, with a glance at
the vacant room.
“That is the old story,” Madame Zotof exclaimed with impatience. “She
is never here; yet I know that she went with you to Mentchikof’s house,
and there made herself notorious by an appeal to the czar in the behalf
of M. de Lambert. It is time that she came to me and behaved as becomes
a modest maiden.”
“Mademoiselle is incapable of any but modest and maidenly behavior,”
Zénaïde replied with spirit; “you are scarcely just to her.”
Madame Zotof laughed scornfully. “I have the longer acquaintance,
madame,” she said, “but I ask you with all courtesy to inform my niece
that I await her pleasure, and it will be well to add that the czar
desires that she shall return to her guardians.”
Zénaïde cast a quick glance at me of mingled amusement and dismay.
“Frankly, Madame Zotof,” she rejoined, “I cannot deliver your
message, for mademoiselle is not here. She did indeed accompany me to
Mentchikof’s house, but she is no longer with us.”
“However, you know where she is, madame,” Madame Zotof exclaimed with
impatience; “it is useless to deny it.”
“At this moment I really do not know where she is,” Zénaïde replied
calmly, determined to delay the other woman’s discovery of the secret
as long as possible; but a sudden inspiration came to Madame Zotof, and
she turned sharply upon my wife.
“Where is M. de Lambert?” she demanded.
I felt that it was time for me to interfere.
“M. de Lambert has been but lately liberated by his imperial Majesty’s
commands,” I said, “and I have to inform you, madame, that your nephew,
M. Apraxin, came here and made a murderous attack upon him.”
“And was it not provoked, M. l’Ambassadeur?” she exclaimed; “did you
not entrap him for the sole purpose of inflaming the czar against him,
and so blinding his Majesty to the true state of affairs?”
“You heap one accusation upon another, madame,” I replied gravely. “M.
Apraxin betrayed M. de Lambert into the hands of the guard, and I only
desired to obtain his liberty. Your kinsman’s repeated attacks upon him
were unprovoked and unmerited.”
Madame’s temper was rising, and she looked at me with flashing eyes.
“You take high ground, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she said cuttingly; “you are
injured, you are badly used, but you forget altogether M. de Lambert’s
pursuit of my niece in the face of my opposition and of Zotof’s, and
you forget your own encouragement of her unmaidenly disobedience. It
was natural that Yury Apraxin should be deeply incensed against this
foreigner, and I do not blame him.”
“You do not blame a man for striking another in the back, madame?” I
repeated with feigned surprise. “I should have looked for more justice
at your hands.”
She bit her lip. “You choose to misunderstand me,” she replied
petulantly. “I am not responsible for the passionate anger of a boy,
but I do insist that the provocation was extreme. M. de Lambert had no
right to seek my niece against the wishes of her guardians.”
“And yet, madame,” I said suavely, “I remember the days when I, like M.
de Lambert, believed that you favored his suit.”
I was referring to the period before the czar turned his eyes in the
direction of mademoiselle; and madame, understanding the covert taunt,
flushed crimson with anger.
“We waste words, M. de Brousson,” she said; “all this does not tell me
where M. de Lambert is, and I have a right to ask to see him.”
“You have a right certainly, madame,” I replied, smiling when I thought
of their new relationship, “and I am sorry that I cannot gratify your
desire to see him. M. de Lambert has been unfortunate enough, as you
know, to fall under the czar’s displeasure, and it was not desirable
for him to remain longer as a member of my party. Therefore he has
departed.”
She stood a moment looking at me, her thoughts coming too rapidly for
her to entirely grasp the situation, although she began to see it with
growing distinctness. Her face was crimson, and her breath came short.
“He has departed?” she repeated vaguely. “M. de Lambert has left
Moscow? You do not mean that he has gone on his way to France?” she
added, with almost a scream.
I smiled and bowed gravely. “Yes, madame,” I said quietly, “M. de
Lambert is now on his way to Versailles.”
“That Frenchman has gone--has left Moscow?” she cried; and then she
went to my wife, grasping her arm almost with violence. “Woman,” she
exclaimed fiercely, “where is my niece?”
Zénaïde shook off her hand with a haughty gesture.
“I must tell you plainly, madame,” she said, “that I am not responsible
for your niece. Mademoiselle Zotof is able to act for herself.”
“You are both trifling with me,” madame cried with passion. “There is
some mystery behind all this--and I will have my niece. You shall not
defy me--you dare not!”
Zénaïde turned a glance upon her that was at once cold and contemptuous.
“Dare, madame?” she repeated with hauteur; “it would be strange indeed
if I feared the anger of Madame Zotof.”
Madame felt the retort keenly, for she knew that Zénaïde was a Russian
and a Ramodanofsky, one of a family beside which the Zotofs were as
mushrooms. Happily, at this moment I heard steps without, and Pierrot
came to the door to usher in M. Zotof. He was flushed and panting
from the ascent of the stair, and I saw at a glance that he had heard
bad tidings; but, unlike madame his wife, he was always inclined to
propitiate, and, I think, had a natural distaste for a quarrel. He
responded to my greeting with civility, although I fancied that he was
somewhat embarrassed by the recollection of his former visit. Madame
Zotof did not give him time or opportunity to speak, but commenced her
attack upon him at once.
“M. de Lambert has left Moscow,” she exclaimed, “and they will not tell
me where Najine is.”
He started at her first words, and cast a quick glance of interrogation
at me.
“Is it true that M. de Lambert has left Moscow?” he asked gravely.
I bowed my head. “He obeyed the order of his Majesty the Czar,” I
replied with composure.
“And my niece has gone with him?” Zotof exclaimed. “I assume this,
because I have learned that you were all together at a late hour last
night.”
Madame interrupted him with a storm of abuse, directed against him for
his stupidity, and against her niece, whom she did not spare, putting
no curb upon her shrewish tongue, and astonishing even her husband, who
stood staring at her as if her mood passed his slow comprehension. But
my wife checked her with a gesture of disdain.
“Have done, madame!” she said in a tone of authority. “Your language
is an injury to your niece. Najine did indeed leave Moscow with this
Frenchman, whom you detest, and she was attended by her woman; but she
left it as the wedded wife of Guillaume de Lambert.”
“His wife!” screamed madame, furiously. “I do not believe it; it is
false!”
Zénaïde made her a curtsy. “I thank you, madame,” she said mockingly;
“your courtesy to me passes all reason. You intrude upon me at most
unseemly hours; you search my house; you insult my hospitality, and now
accuse me of falsehood! I am overwhelmed with your kindness.”
Zotof turned to me. I think, for the moment, he was too astonished to
resent my share in the affair as intensely as did his wife.
“My niece wedded to M. de Lambert!” he exclaimed; “where, and at what
hour?”
“In the Cathedral of the Assumption, monsieur,” I replied courteously,
“past midnight, and in my presence, so that I can bear witness to the
ceremony.”
He crimsoned with rage. “This passes my endurance, M. l’Ambassadeur,”
he exclaimed furiously. “It shall be immediately reported to the czar.
My niece shall be brought back to Moscow, and M. de Lambert shall
answer for this! You presume too far upon the forbearance of the
Russians. We have endured much, but this exceeds all. My niece will
find that this marriage avails nothing.”
I looked from one to the other with unruffled composure, finding it
difficult to suppress a smile when I saw madame’s furious face.
“Come, monsieur and madame,” I said persuasively, “we were all younger
once, and we all know that love plays strange tricks. Would it not
be better to forget and forgive? The deed is done; M. de Lambert and
Najine are man and wife in the eyes of the church, and it is not for
you or me to bind or loose those whom the church has united. They are
on their way to Versailles--see! the day has dawned--the sun has risen
on their married life; of what avail is violence? If you drag them back
to Moscow and excite the czar against M. de Lambert, it will indeed
bring wretchedness, but what else? I know mademoiselle--I beg her
pardon--Madame de Lambert, and neither prison nor death will prevail
against her loyal and devoted spirit--and she is his wife!”
I think that my words had some effect upon M. Zotof, for he heard me
to the end, but to madame they were sown upon the wind. Before I had
finished she had her spouse by the arm and was drawing him toward the
door; but she stopped long enough to fling another bitter reproach at
me, and never looked more perfectly the shrew than at that moment.
“It is well for you to use fine words now, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she
exclaimed, “when you have so far succeeded; but the time will come when
you will regret this interference--the czar shall know the truth.”
“You forget, madame,” I retorted calmly, “that I am not a subject of
the czar.”
But she took no further notice of me, checking her husband as he was
about to reply.
“Waste no more time, Zotof,” she exclaimed in a shrill tone; “there are
fleet horses yet in Moscow. You are a man, and can pursue this runaway.”
And she hurried him from the room and from the house. We could hear her
belaboring him with her sharp tongue all the way down the stairs, and
even in the street below the windows. Zénaïde stood watching them as
they departed, and turned to me with anxiety on her face.
“Do you think there is danger of their overtaking M. de Lambert?” she
asked.
I shook my head. “It is not probable; he has the advantage of a fair
start, and all is arranged for the relays of horses.”
“Why did you tell them that he was going to Versailles?” she went on,
still troubled; “I thought to hear you mislead them.”
“And so I did,” I replied, smiling; “they go, indeed, to Versailles,
but by a circuitous route. Mentchikof and I planned it all. They go
direct to Poland, and so through Sweden to France.”
“And they will pursue on the straight road to France?” exclaimed
Zénaïde, with relief.
“Exactly, madame,” I replied gently, “and meanwhile much time is lost,
for they will quarrel twenty times upon the way to the czar.”
My wife laughed softly. “Poor M. Zotof,” she exclaimed, “I find it in
my heart to pity him. Madame his wife will never forgive him for his
negligence; and what torture to live with that woman’s tongue!”