THE RESCUE.
THERE was so large an element of chance about my experiment that I
watched the dangling belt with the interest of a gambler. It might
very easily attract the notice of the inmate of the room below, but
would that be Mademoiselle Eudoxie? I knew that the room in which she
slept had a window opening on the opposite side upon the street, for
it was at that window that she was to place her signal in the event
of requiring my services. It was a strange reverse of circumstance,
that I should be signaling for her help at another spot in the same
house. I had lowered my flag of distress until it was directly in
front of the window, and the heavy belt, with its silver fastenings,
was too conspicuous to escape the notice of some one, friend or foe.
I waited for a while, in painful suspense, leaning out over the sill,
and looking down at the slowly vibrating signal, all the while hoping
to see Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s thin face and sportive gray curls appear
below.
At last my uncertainty was ended, but not by the expected vision.
Instead, a light-haired, fair-faced girl looked up in genuine
astonishment, and Zénaïde’s eyes met mine. She was at first too
surprised to do more than gaze at me in perfect bewilderment, and I
returned her regard with a stupid amazement. For some reason I had not
thought of arousing Zénaïde. She was the first to recover herself, and
apparently comprehended something of the situation. She withdrew, and
almost immediately Mademoiselle Eudoxie really did look up; and even
in that predicament I could scarcely restrain a smile at her evident
horror and alarm. She signed to me that they understood, and then her
head also vanished, and I withdrew my singular signal, fearing that it
might attract the attention of less friendly eyes.
There was nothing to be done now but to await developments, which I did
with all the patience I could command. It was some little time before
I heard light steps outside my door; and after some fumbling with the
fastenings, it was thrown open, revealing Zénaïde upon the threshold,
and mademoiselle looking over her shoulder with an expression of
astonishment difficult to describe. I was conscious of cutting a
sorry figure, for I must have borne the marks of the hard usage of the
previous night. Zénaïde did not seem to require any explanation of my
presence, probably imagining that it was due to some of her uncle’s
violence; but to mademoiselle I had to make a lengthy statement, which
had the effect of turning her surprise to alarm.
“Zénaïde, dear, we must get him right out!” she cried nervously. “It is
a great risk to delay a moment. Your uncle--the servants--”
Zénaïde glanced at her with that kind of scorn that a strong nature
feels for a weak one.
“You forget, dear mademoiselle,” she said calmly, “that my uncle is
indisposed to-day; has been so since the czar’s funeral, and the serfs
will not interfere with me,” she added, with a certain hauteur which
became her well, and which evidently revived the sinking spirits of the
older woman. It was plain that she was in the habit of relying on the
young girl’s strength of will rather than on her own.
“Nevertheless, Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky,” I said earnestly, “I must
escape as soon as possible, for I was the bearer of an important
packet, and know not how serious may be the consequences of its loss.”
She looked at me anxiously, the danger of my situation seeming to have
surmounted her first embarrassment, so that she spoke to and regarded
me as an old friend rather than a new admirer.
“A packet, M. de Brousson,” she said thoughtfully; “it may be that
I know something of it,” and she questioned me about its size and
appearance, listening attentively to my description.
“That packet only left this house an hour since,” she said. “I was in
attendance upon my uncle, and saw him give it to a dwarf just as I was
leaving the room.”
I questioned her eagerly, and was soon assured that the dwarf was none
other than the eavesdropper Homyak, and my heart sank as I divined
the probable destination of the czarevna’s packet, and pictured her
anger and consternation; for of course it would reach the hands of the
Czarina Natalia.
While Zénaïde talked to me about the dwarf, Mademoiselle Eudoxie
hovered at the door of the apartment like a frightened mother bird
trying to guard the young ones from the marauder; and as soon as there
was a pause, she recurred to her first exclamation.
“We must get him out, Zénaïde!” she said, wringing her hands; “we must
get him out at once!”
“Is there any reason to prevent me from going directly down the stairs
and out, the way I did the other evening?” I asked.
“Many reasons,” Zénaïde answered quietly. “You are unarmed, and you
would never reach the gate of the courtyard.”
I began to share mademoiselle’s evident anxiety. We all three gazed
at each other in perplexity, only Zénaïde’s face expressed a keen
thoughtfulness that reassured me. I felt that she had all a woman’s
delicate intuition and a lively intelligence.
“There is only one way,” she said at last, glancing with a smile from
Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s tall, angular form to mine; “it is fortunate
that mademoiselle is so tall.”
I began to divine her project, and my cheek burned. I knew how keen was
a girl’s sense of the ridiculous, and it was my last wish to appear
absurd before Zénaïde Feodorovna.
“Mademoiselle Eudoxie,” she said, speaking with the assured tone of
one whose resolution is formed, “take M. de Brousson down to your
apartments, and give him your long mantle and hood and veil, and I will
order the carriage for you. You understand, you are ill, and require a
consultation with the doctor, and old Konrat can drive the coach.”
“Capital! capital!” exclaimed mademoiselle, clapping her hands with
the glee of a child. “You are a witch, Zénaïde! Follow me, Monsieur
Philippe; we have no time to lose.”
I protested. I grew hot at the thought of figuring before Zénaïde in
petticoats and cloak, like an old woman; but they would not listen to
my objections, and finally I reflected that liberty was sweet, even at
the cost of a little laughter at my expense, and it was sweeter still
to owe it to Zénaïde. So I was smuggled down the stairs into a little
anteroom, off Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s quarters, and there left to array
myself in a petticoat and hooded mantle. I took much time to do it,
being utterly confounded by the multitude of strings and buttons, and
feeling myself a fool for my pains. Having finally completed my toilet,
to my great confusion, and tapped on mademoiselle’s door, she opened it
and bade me enter her boudoir. Zénaïde was there also, and both women
viewed me for a moment in silence, and then Zénaïde gave way to mirth.
Her laughter, although musical enough, struck a discord on my ear at
that moment.
“Pardon me, M. le Vicomte,” she said, her fair face flushed with
merriment and her beautiful eyes dancing, “but oh, mademoiselle,
look--look at his feet!”
I looked down with a feeling of utter helplessness, and to my
consternation saw that mademoiselle’s petticoat came only half-way
between knee and ankle, and my booted and spurred feet were in evidence
below the too scanty skirt. Even mademoiselle laughed as she realized
the effect of my figure, but she was quicker in conceiving a remedy
than she had been in contriving an escape. The old woman approached me
with the air of a mother about to adjust the clothing of a child, and
with a few dexterous touches managed to loosen strings and fasten with
pins until the skirt fell over my feet; and, at Zénaïde’s suggestion,
she removed my spurs. Then muffling my face in a veil and adjusting
my hood, with the air of bestowing a benediction upon the enterprise,
Mademoiselle Eudoxie finally handed me over to her pupil’s guidance,
while she retired, to remain in concealment until the successful
execution of our plot.
Left alone with Zénaïde, I secretly fumed at my absurd appearance,
and the necessity for caution. Here was my first opportunity to talk
alone to the object of my devotion, and I was absurdly dressed in an
old woman’s mantle and petticoat and half suffocated with this atrocity
of a veil. I began to realize the difficulties which beset a woman,
and to admire the intrepidity of spirit that can not only endure such
garments, but do more than that,--resemble an angel in them! Whether
or not Zénaïde appreciated my misery I am not sure, but she had
sufficient forbearance to restrain her mirth and reply to my remarks
with suitable gravity, although more than once I fancied that I saw a
gleam of mischief in the blue eyes as they rested upon me. Her manner
was demureness itself, and she conducted me through the anteroom and
along the hall without a word. As we were descending the stairs, we
encountered two servant-maids coming up, and Zénaïde explained to them
that Mademoiselle Eudoxie was indisposed and was going to the doctor’s.
I noticed that they both regarded me with a slightly bewildered air;
but my fair guide passed them as if they were not worth a thought,
and I followed as well as I could, but found my petticoats even more
difficult to manage than I had supposed. When we reached the lower
floor, Zénaïde led me into a small room to await the arrival of the
carriage, and going to an escritoire in the corner, she took out a
pistol, and after a glance at it, handed it to me.
“It may be that you will have need of it, M. le Vicomte,” she said
gravely. “It is loaded; conceal it under your cloak.”
“Is it yours, mademoiselle?” I asked quickly, for something in her
manner made me divine the truth.
She bowed her head in assent. “It was my father’s; he brought the two
from France.”
I pressed it back, but she waved her hand.
“Keep it, monsieur,” she said simply, “I have the mate.”
“You are never without arms then, mademoiselle?” I said.
She glanced at me searchingly, and instantly I remembered Von Gaden’s
remark that she had her father’s spirit. There was something about her
mouth which suggested the quick decision and unfaltering resolution
that properly belong to the sterner sex.
“I am never unprepared for the worst, M. de Brousson,” she replied
calmly. “I have neither father nor mother nor brother to protect me. I
am an orphan, and here in Russia a girl has little freedom of choice.”
“Pardon me, mademoiselle,” I said, strongly moved, “I have learned
that your uncle is forcing an unwelcome marriage upon you; are you in
any danger of being compelled to submission?”
The color blazed on the delicate cheek, and for a moment I saw pride
struggling with a weaker feeling; then her eyes filled with tears, and
she clasped her hands together in an effort to maintain her composure.
“I cannot be forced into that marriage, monsieur,” she said in a low
voice, “for I can die.”
“Mademoiselle!” I cried out, “is it as bad as that?”
She bent her head, and I saw the tears glistening on her eyelashes. I
forgot my situation, I forgot my absurd guise, and in a moment I was
kneeling beside her, with one of her hands clasped in mine.
“Mademoiselle Zénaïde,” I said, in a low voice, “he shall never so
sacrifice you while I live. There is one sword always at your service.”
Her beautiful face was crimson with embarrassment, and her hand
fluttered in my detaining clasp; but I saw that she was deeply touched,
even if half-frightened at my vehemence.
“Alas, M. le Vicomte,” she exclaimed, looking at me sorrowfully, “what
could you do among so many? How could you oppose my uncle?”
Remembering the lost packet and Sophia’s probable displeasure, I was a
little nonplussed myself.
“I would find some way to save you!” I exclaimed. “For my king’s sake,
I am privileged at court, and I would appeal to the czar.”
“Ah, no!” she said, at once losing hope, “you forget that the man whom
my uncle has selected is a cousin of the Czar Peter.”
“It matters not!” I exclaimed desperately, “I would find a way; your
uncle has no right to barter your happiness.”
She smiled bitterly. “A young girl’s happiness is not often
considered,” she said; “sometimes I think it is better to be old and
ugly like Mademoiselle Eudoxie, since no one could desire to marry her.”
“Never regret being beautiful, mademoiselle,” I said impulsively,
“since you can give happiness by merely smiling upon the rest of us
poor mortals!”
“Hush!” she exclaimed, “I hear a footstep. Arise, M. le Vicomte. If the
door is opened now, you are betrayed.”
“I will not rise until I have thanked you,” I replied gallantly, “for
it is to you I owe my liberty, perhaps my life, and, mademoiselle, I
find the debt a sweet one.”
“It is nothing,” she cried hurriedly; “but if you do not rise,
monsieur, you will betray me, and bring down a deluge on my head.”
At this I stumbled awkwardly to my feet, and she, seeming to feel that
she had been hasty, held out her hand with a blush and a smile, and
as I pressed it to my lips, she spoke to me in a sweet and slightly
faltering tone.
“I thank you,” she said, “for your sympathy. I am a lonely orphan,
and your friendship for mademoiselle and me is peculiarly valuable to
us. But alas! I am too carefully guarded for a stranger to help me;
therefore, go, monsieur, and forget me, though I shall remember always
your thought for my fate.”
I flung back my head. “Mademoiselle,” I said steadfastly, “I will
neither forget you nor fail you; in your hour of need I will--”
I know not how much more I would have said, for she was listening with
downcast and blushing face; but, at this moment, a lackey announced the
carriage, and I was forced to make an awkward exit, Zénaïde giving all
the directions for me.
“Mademoiselle Eudoxie cannot speak clearly,” she said serenely; “she
has a severe toothache. Konrat, drive directly to Dr. von Gaden’s
house and leaving mademoiselle there, return and report to me. _Au
revoir_, mademoiselle, and may your tooth be soon quieted.”
And the carriage drove slowly out of the court, leaving her standing on
the doorstep, with the rare Russian sunlight touching her golden hair,
and a blush like a rose on her fair young cheek.