BAFFLED.
THERE was a window in the inner cell, a narrow slit in the solid wall
on a level with my eyes, and barred with iron. It served only to admit
the air and a faint gleam of light, for it had no outlook but the blank
wall of the court, not six feet away. Even without the bars it was too
narrow to permit a man to squeeze through, and it afforded us little
comfort. Locked in between those massive walls, no sound reached us
from the house; it was as silent as the tomb. I returned again and
again to my attempts to force the door, although common sense told me
that they were futile. Mademoiselle Eudoxie increased my exasperation
by her hopeless demeanor. It was manifest that she thought we could
easily be forgotten and left to perish in the cellar of a Russian
house; but I had some confidence in Von Gaden, and more in Pierrot; I
was sure that my fate would be investigated. If there had only been
the Boyar Feodor Sergheievitch, I should have felt differently, for
he was cast in too stern a mold to waste time or anxiety upon me: the
Tartar was too close to the surface to permit any tender feelings; his
years of suffering had swept away the finer qualities, leaving only the
heroic nature. As I paced that narrow cell in the heat of my anger and
disappointment, I still could not avoid picturing the meeting between
father and daughter--if it ever happened. With her French blood and her
French training, what would Zénaïde Feodorovna think of this rugged
man? There could be no foundation of natural affection between them,
since they had been separated when Zénaïde was too young to understand
the tie which bound her to the stern boyar. What a strange meeting it
would be!
Mademoiselle had retired to the inner cell and left me in possession of
the other, but came now to the door between, and stood looking at me. I
noticed again that her curls were hanging limp, as if they sympathized
with her discouragement.
“I have been thinking,” she said, in a tremulous voice, “and I fear
that her uncle’s death will be a bad thing for Zénaïde.”
“I should think it would be the best thing that could happen,” I said.
She shook her head. “It leaves her to Viatscheslav,” she replied
quietly; “he is her betrothed, and her guardian dead, you see what will
happen? He and the czarina can force the marriage just as easily as
before.”
I flung out my hands impatiently.
“Why tell me this now?” I cried, “when I am helpless, and there is no
refuge but the hope that her father will act more discreetly than I
have done.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Philippe,” mademoiselle said gently; “we cannot
always foresee and prevent every evil. It is true that it would have
been better to have left me to my fate, and pressed on in search of the
young girl.”
She spoke sadly, and there was an implied reproach in her words which
smote me. I took her hand and pressed it warmly.
“You forget, mademoiselle,” I said, “that your safety is dear to
Zénaïde and to me. Do you think that Philippe de Brousson forgets old
friends?”
The tears came into the excellent woman’s eyes.
“Ah, Philippe,” she said sorrowfully, “I am one of the unfortunates of
this world who usually get only the crumbs from the rich man’s table,
and it touches me to be remembered. But you were ever true-hearted. I
cannot look at you, broad-shouldered, bronzed man that you are, without
seeing the little fair-haired boy playing among the roses in the garden
of the château.”
“Keep the memory fresh, mademoiselle,” I said lightly; “think of me
ever at my best.”
She went back to her room, and for a little while I was left to my
reflections, and then she came again to the door.
“I hear a noise of some kind,” she said, with some excitement in her
voice. “It comes from the streets, and is like the sound of some great
disturbance. What can it be?”
Her first words had raised the hope that our rescuers were at hand;
and, even failing that, I was eager to catch every murmur from the
outside world. We both went to the narrow window, and listened. It was
now dark, and we could not even see the wall, which served to dull
the sounds coming to us on the night wind; it was a deep, low murmur,
like the growling of a tempest, far off, but unmistakable. We listened
intently; both of us had the same thought.
“It must be a riot,” mademoiselle exclaimed, a thrill of excitement in
her voice.
It was the twenty-fourth of May, 1682, and we were listening to the
first rumblings of the storm that was to break on the morrow upon the
Kremlin, and in a few hours work a mighty change.
“That is the sound of a multitude,” I remarked as we stood there, so
anxious and so helpless. “I know that trouble has been brewing for
weeks, and it may culminate to-night.”
“Holy Virgin!” ejaculated mademoiselle, “what will become of my poor
lamb?”
I turned away sharply; a hundred horrid thoughts assailed me, and
I was in prison! Oh, the anguish of such enforced quiet! Where was
Ramodanofsky, and that knave Pierrot? I was beside myself with futile
rage. I went once more to the door and beat upon it, not with any
real hope of escape, but it served as a vent to my uncontrollable
excitement. To be a man, and caged at such a moment! I envied
mademoiselle her tears and her resignation; in sooth, it is easier for
a woman to be a martyr. She is accustomed to the surrender to evil
destiny, bowed into submission to the stronger will; but with a man it
is different. I paced that narrow cell, inwardly raving at myself and
Von Gaden; if no one else imagined my misadventure, he was keen enough
to divine it, and I saw no excuse for this miserable delay. Could it
be that they had come, and partially searched the house, and gone away
again without discovering the cellar dungeons? The thought drove the
cold sweat out on my forehead. We might easily starve there without
any one hearing our outcries, and the villain who had locked us in
would have fled from the new master of the house, and was even now,
perhaps, laughing at my folly in leaving him outside a door. And in the
mean while, what would happen to Zénaïde? I thought of her constantly;
her fair face and blue eyes and her long flaxen hair stood out before
me like a picture on the dark background of my despair. How little I
had accomplished to save her from the fate which threatened her! How
easily I had permitted my enemies to outwit me! Fool that I was!--but
for the French mirror, I might have been lying now stiff and stark in
Vladimir’s place. I had been such a blunderer in all else, I marveled
that I had not fallen a victim in this also.
The hours dragged wearily past, and it must have been near midnight
when mademoiselle came again to the door.
“There is something going on in the house,” she said breathlessly. “I
have been listening at my window, and have heard noises in the court.”
I was alert at once. “Then we must make an outcry, mademoiselle,” I
said, “or we shall never be found. Go to the window and shriek for
help, and I will beat upon the door.”
“Is it wise, Philippe?” she asked fearfully. “It might be some enemy,
and it would be so easy to demolish us.”
“Nonsense, mademoiselle!” I exclaimed impatiently. “Is it better to
perish of hunger? Moreover, it must be our friends; they have been long
in coming, too. Think of Zénaïde, mademoiselle, and help me to rouse
them.”
Thus adjured, she went to the window, and I heard her calling for help
in her thin French voice, in the intervals of the noise that I made in
beating recklessly upon the door. I kept it up until I was worn out,
and pausing for breath, heard steps in the hall; and in another moment
the bars were removed from the outside, and the door opened, to reveal
Pierrot and Von Gaden.
“You have given us a terrible fright, M. de Brousson,” the latter
remarked, a look of intense relief coming over his face at the sight of
me.
“I hoped you would find me sooner,” I exclaimed, casting a glance that
was not without rebuke at Pierrot.
“I did not know your errand, M. le Vicomte,” he returned stolidly; “if
I had, I should not have waited for orders.”
“It was my fault,” protested Von Gaden; “I did not want Ramodanofsky to
come here, and I counted confidently on your ability to execute your
mission.”
“Too confidently, M. le Docteur,” I said dryly; “I have proved myself
but a fool. But we have no time to lose. Come, mademoiselle, you will
be glad to be out of this cage.”
“You have found her?” exclaimed Von Gaden, eagerly; but his face fell
at the sight of Mademoiselle Eudoxie, who came out in a state of
collapse.
As we ascended the stairs, I recounted to him briefly all that she
had told me. I found, to my chagrin, that they had no tidings, having
apparently waited for me. Von Gaden told me that when I did not return,
Ramodanofsky came back, after having been out on a search for Homyak,
and that they had come together to the house, and found Vladimir, as
I had left him, on the floor. The serfs had evidently discovered him
before their arrival, and fled in fear of being accused of murder;
for, although the doors of the apartment had been forced open, the body
had not been disturbed, and the doctor said that the cups still stood
on the table with the untouched dish of caviare. We did not go into the
room, for when we reached the large hall, we found Feodor Sergheievitch
pacing up and down with a gloomy face. What strange thoughts must have
been his that night! I noticed at once that he wore the full uniform of
the Streltsi, and was completely armed. I presented him to Mademoiselle
Eudoxie, and he met her with more kindness than I had imagined him
capable of displaying. I saw her looking at his scarred and drawn
face with an expression of awe; but she felt, too, his courteous
acknowledgment of her care of his daughter. We were all too troubled
about Zénaïde, however, to think of anything else.
“The city is in a tumult to-night,” Von Gaden remarked; “there have
been small riots in several quarters, and we cannot move too quickly.
Mademoiselle, will you return to my house with me?”
Both Ramodanofsky and I saw her look of horror, and the boyar solved
the difficulty.
“If mademoiselle will return to her rooms here for the present, I
shall be grateful,” he said. “Two of my men are here, and will stay to
guard her, and she can be ready to receive my daughter at any moment.”
Mademoiselle knew nothing of the body still lying in the closed room,
and decided to remain, being unable to conquer her aversion to Von
Gaden’s house. As soon as she was safely installed, we separated, each
to prosecute the search, Pierrot following me. We were walking away
from the house alone when he caught up with me.
“M. le Vicomte,” he said in a subdued voice, “begging your pardon, we
had better go to your quarters.”
“What do you mean, knave?” I exclaimed sharply, stopping short.
“Nothing, my lord,” he replied calmly, “except that I think it probable
that that Russian devil of M. Ramodanofsky’s has roasted the other one
by this time.”
“You fool!” I cried. “Did you leave Polotsky at Michael’s mercy?”
Pierrot’s stolidity was never shaken.
“You were in peril, M. le Vicomte,” he said doggedly, “and I cared not
a rap whether he roasted forty Russians or not, so long as I saved you.
The fellow is a vile knave anyway, and might as well be dead as alive;
only I thought your excellency might object to his cooking him at your
quarters.”
“You rogue!” I cried angrily. “Go at once and protect the wretch until
I come; I have not a moment to lose now.”
With considerable reluctance he obeyed, walking off slowly, and looking
back more than once over his shoulder.
I went on rapidly, turning my face towards the Kremlin. If Homyak had
returned from his errand, he would be about the palace, and I was
determined to find him.