MADEMOISELLE EUDOXIE’S WINDOW.
AFTER leaving Galitsyn’s palace, I returned at once to my own quarters,
and was glad to find that Pierrot had not neglected my instructions,
and had a comfortable meal spread. I had been through a rough
experience, and was well pleased to rest a little, with a feeling of
satisfaction at the safe execution of my mission. I was well rid of
the packet, and hoped too to be rid of the consequences. I saw that
Pierrot was far less sanguine than I, for he moved about the table as
if waiting on a corpse, his lugubrious countenance both amusing and
annoying me. However, the evening passed without any event, and I went
early to rest, feeling the effect of the rough handling of the previous
night, for I was not a little sore and stiff.
The seven days which ensued were disgusting to every decent man. The
_pravezh_ continued, and officer after officer was publicly scourged
before being permitted to retire in disgrace to his country-place. It
was the revolting spectacle of a weak and tottering government unable
to control its own soldiers, and swayed too by every fiendish impulse
of the mob. How long this state of things could continue seemed an open
question, and among the more conservative there was fear that Sophia
would never be able to handle the spirit of evil that her intrigues had
helped to set free, for it was no secret that the czarevna was working
on the feelings of the ignorant soldiers, and upon the populace.
On every hand there were rumors that Sophia feared the treachery of
the Naryshkins, and believed that Peter’s uncle, Ivan Naryshkin, was
himself aiming at the throne. But Von Gaden, in his private talks with
me, scoffed at the idea; he thought the czarevna far too shrewd to
dream of such absurdities, and that she was merely circulating these
_canards_ for the purpose of inflaming the ignorant and seditious. I
was myself confronted with a new situation, for since the affair of the
packet, I had noticed a decided change at the palace, and the Czarina
Natalia, on one occasion, treated me with marked coldness. Therefore,
as my lot seemed cast with the Miloslavskys, I could no longer pose
as an indifferent spectator, but watched the moves at court with the
interest of one of the players at dice; and in those few days before
the 25th of May, 1682, it was a desperate game, desperately played.
Preparations were in progress for the coronation of Peter Alexeivitch,
and the whole strength of the aristocratic party was rallying to his
support; some of the most honorable names in Russia were reckoned among
his immediate adherents; yet there was no master hand to grip the
helm of state, and arrayed against them was a clever woman, seconded
by Basil Galitsyn and Ivan Miloslavsky, a strong trio, two of them
destined to rule Russia for seven years.
But in the midst of this public excitement, came a call upon me
that turned my mind from such intrigues and concentrated it upon an
effort to secure my own happiness. Ever since my first agreement
with Mademoiselle Eudoxie, I had persistently watched Ramodanofsky’s
residence, that no ill might come to Zénaïde without a warning to me.
I had been at the Kremlin all day, and it was in the dusk of evening
that I made my pilgrimage past the gloomy house, and as I approached,
it struck me as more than usually forbidding in its aspect; either
it was too early for lights, or they were not near the windows, and
the effect was somber in the extreme. The gates of the courtyard were
closed, and there was no sign of life. I passed around the front of the
house and down the lane which had been the scene of Michael’s attack
upon me. This lane continued around the back of the house, which was
flanked by the other wing, where Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s room commanded
a part of the lane from one small window; and it was here that she had
agreed to place a signal in the hour of need. I had made the pilgrimage
many afternoons without result, but as soon as I turned the corner of
the wall that evening, I saw a white handkerchief fluttering on the
window sill. Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s signal! For a moment I was taken
by surprise, as we always are when we discover anything that we have
looked for assiduously but without success day after day; so it was
that I was not only astonished but alarmed at the sight of the signal,
and was not slow to conjecture the danger which threatened Zénaïde.
Now, in the hour of the coronation of the young czar and the return
of Matveief, the Naryshkins were endeavoring to strengthen their
position among the boyars, and this alliance would be pushed forward
by Ramodanofsky, knowing as he did that after his action in regard
to Sophia’s packet, he could hope for nothing from the Miloslavskys;
moreover, there was, I knew, an undercurrent in this affair too deep
even for my plummet line.
I walked down the lane and returned, observing the window in hopes
of discovering mademoiselle on the watch for me; but all was quiet.
Meanwhile, I had been reflecting upon the best course to pursue. It
would be practically impossible for me to see mademoiselle until after
dark, for I could not now approach the house without being seen, and
there, too, was the difficulty of the closed gates. In the short
twilight which ensued, I had time to collect my thoughts, and be in a
measure prepared for the emergency. I reflected that, single handed,
I could do little in case there was need for immediate action, and
so, reluctant as I was to lose sight of the house, I returned to my
own quarters and ordered Pierrot to bring a carriage, and wait at the
end of the lane in case I should require either the vehicle or his
services. I saw that he had no stomach for the errand, remembering too
vividly his experience of the previous week; but he did not venture to
offer any remonstrance, and in less than a quarter of an hour after
my return to my post, he arrived at the entrance to the lane with the
carriage. The driver was directed to wait a signal where he was; but
I stationed Pierrot where he could watch the gates, which had been
opened a few moments before to admit a guest. There were lights now in
the front of the house, and choosing my opportunity, I slipped into
the courtyard unobserved and passed around towards the wing. Here I
was confronted with a darkness that alarmed me; only one light showed,
and that was in the third window from the main building, where I had
first seen Zénaïde. I went directly to the postern and tried it; but
it was locked, and I was not a little nonplussed. I dared not knock,
for I could not be sure what danger threatened the women, and who
would answer my summons. Stepping back from the door, I looked up
again at the dark and quiet house, and saw the light shining in the
window above my head. Listening intently, I satisfied myself that all
the noise in the house came from the other side of the main building;
then, I whistled softly two bars from a love-song that I remembered
having heard Mademoiselle Eudoxie sing in the old days at the Tour de
Brousson. For a moment there was no reply, and I began to despair of
attracting their notice without alarming the household; then I saw a
slender figure outlined against the light within. I stepped into the
middle of the court and waved my hand over my head. Zénaïde either
recognized me or divined who it was, and called Mademoiselle Eudoxie,
for I saw the unmistakable outline of the old maid’s gaunt figure
behind her. I whistled again, very low, another bar from the same song,
and was rewarded by seeing mademoiselle leave the window quickly,
to go, as I knew, to the postern. She reached it almost as quickly
as I did, and admitted me in silence, after first assuring herself
that there had been no mistake. She carried a light in her hand, and
fastening the door behind me, put her finger on her lip, and then
signed to me to follow her. Stepping very cautiously, she preceded me
up the stairs into the room where I had first surprised them. Zénaïde
was still standing by the window, and at my entrance, took a few steps
forward, and greeted me with an air of some reserve. I saw that she was
very pale, and her eyes were strangely brilliant. Mademoiselle Eudoxie
closed the door, and bolting it with the manner of a conspirator, set
her light down beside the one on the table. Zénaïde made a movement as
if to leave the room; but mademoiselle looked at her so reproachfully
that she paused and stood irresolute. I broke the ice at once.
“I saw the signal, mademoiselle,” I said, “and responded immediately.
You are in trouble?”
“The greatest!” ejaculated mademoiselle, clasping her hands and looking
at Zénaïde. “The worst has happened!”
“M. de Brousson does not understand you, mademoiselle,” Zénaïde said
gently; and then she turned to me, the color rising on her cheeks
until she was no longer pale but sweetly confused. “The worst, M. le
Vicomte, means simply that my uncle is determined to compel me to marry
Viatscheslav Naryshkin to-morrow morning.”
“And she says that she will kill herself rather than marry a man whom
she does not love!” put in mademoiselle, tearfully.
My eyes sought Zénaïde’s, and hers fell, the color sweeping up to her
fair hair. In a moment I felt that the room was transformed, and no
longer considered either the difficulty or the peril of the situation;
I was moved out of myself. We were both so silent that mademoiselle
stood looking from one to the other, with a growing terror on her thin
features; and it seemed to me that those ecstatic little curls of hers
danced in sympathy with her affrighted heart-beats.
“What can we do?” she exclaimed tremulously.
“If Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky is willing to be guided by my counsel, I
think I can suggest a way to evade this trouble,” I said, with a little
hesitation, trying quickly to decide on the wiser of two courses.
Zénaïde, having recovered her composure, turned to me with something of
her natural manner.
“I am in too great straits to refuse any one’s advice, monsieur,” she
said gently; “my uncle is an inflexible man, and I can expect no mercy
at his hands--and surely none from Naryshkin,” she added with a gesture
of contempt.
“Tell us what to do!” cried mademoiselle, hysterically, before I could
reply; the poor soul was beside herself with terror.
“There are two courses open to you, Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky,” I said
at once; “and in both cases you must accept my escort from this house
to-night.”
I saw Zénaïde’s start and her questioning glance at mademoiselle, who
was incapable of advising or guiding any one then, and who looked to me
with implicit confidence.
“I have reason to think, mademoiselle,” I continued, addressing
Zénaïde, “that the Czarevna Sophia could, and would, protect you
against your uncle’s violence. There is also another way of securing
your liberty, but that would take a longer time to accomplish”--I was
thinking of a full exposure of Vladimir’s villainy. “One course would
be to permit me to conduct you and Mademoiselle Eudoxie directly to the
Kremlin, and to rely on the czarevna’s ability to defend you. The other
course, which seems easier and safer as a first move, is to go secretly
to Dr. von Gaden’s house. His wife will receive you, and I am sure that
the doctor can and will conceal your presence there for a few days,
until we find means to evade your uncle’s determination.”
“To what end, M. le Vicomte?” asked Zénaïde, quietly, a strangely
resolute expression about her mouth.
I was embarrassed; it was no part of my intention to reveal my scheme
for Ramodanofsky’s defeat, but I recognized the significance of her
question; she had seen at a glance that all that was to be gained was
a possible delay. It was not usual in Russia to oppose the guardian’s
wishes in regard to the marriage of his charge, and I knew that she
considered that the situation was desperate.
“Mademoiselle,” I said firmly, meeting her eyes with resolution,
“there is a matter of which I cannot speak, but which bears immediately
upon the case, and leads me to believe that your uncle dare not do
violence to your inclinations in the face of the czarevna’s opposition,
and he has deeply offended Sophia by his connection with this business
of the packet. Trust me, mademoiselle, to unravel the tangled skein.
At least, any delay would be better than marriage to-morrow with
Viatscheslav!”
She threw back her head with a motion of proud disdain.
“M. de Brousson,” she said slowly, “I will never marry that man!”
Mademoiselle Eudoxie gave way to her grief and sobbed behind her
handkerchief.
“She will kill herself!” she moaned; “that is the way she goes on!”
“Mademoiselle,” I said quietly, looking at Zénaïde, “a carriage is
waiting in the lane; we have not much time to lose. I pray you get your
cloak, and Mademoiselle Eudoxie will accompany us to Dr. von Gaden’s
house.”
“Do come, dear Zénaïde,” pleaded her companion, looking up over the top
of her handkerchief, her eyes red and swollen.
“I would go gladly enough, Mademoiselle Eudoxie,” Zénaïde replied
frankly, “if I knew that I should gain my liberty at last, and if I
did not fear being a most unwelcome and burdensome guest in the good
doctor’s house.”
“In that matter I can relieve your mind, mademoiselle,” I exclaimed
hastily. “Dr. von Gaden has the friendliest regard for you, and I have
reason to know that he will consider it a privilege to shelter you in
this hour of need.”
Zénaïde looked at me searchingly. “You are very reassuring, M. de
Brousson,” she said quietly, “and I see that there is some reason
behind all this that causes your confidence; but you must forgive my
hesitation. I am indeed in sore straits; but I know my uncle to be a
relentless man, and I would not willingly bring down his wrath upon
this Jewish physician, from whom I have received nothing but good
offices. The Czar Peter will soon be crowned, and the Naryshkins once
in power, it will be ruin to have tried to help me against one of that
family.”
“Mademoiselle,” I said gently, “I have the greatest respect for your
scruples; but, believe me, they are without serious foundation. If the
Naryshkins could hold the balance of power, there would have been no
_pravezh_. And, in any case, will you risk nothing for your liberty?”
She looked up, and I saw the tears shining in her blue eyes.
“M. le Vicomte,” she exclaimed passionately, “I would risk life itself,
but--I do not wish to peril yours!”
I took her hand and pressed it to my lips. Mademoiselle Eudoxie was
crying with much noise by the table.
“Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky,” I said firmly, “I would not leave you in
this extremity; and if I remain here--” I looked at her and paused.
“Mademoiselle,” Zénaïde said, with a break in her voice, “are our
cloaks here? We must go!”
Mademoiselle Eudoxie ceased sobbing and immediately produced the
cloaks. I helped her to muffle Zénaïde and herself, and then, without
any light, we went out, and fastening the door of the room on the
outside, took the key with us, to delay as long as possible the
discovery of their flight; then went groping our way down the narrow
steps, starting at every creak of the stairs, like the conspirators
that we were.