A SOLEMN BETROTHAL.
WHEN I came to myself again, I was lying on a couch, and the first
eyes that I met were the tearful ones of Zénaïde, for she was standing
beside me. For the moment, my mind was too confused to recall anything
that had happened, and I looked wonderingly from her face to Pierrot,
who stood at the foot of my couch, his head tied up so that one eye was
obscured. Then, as through a mist, I saw Mademoiselle Eudoxie holding a
bandage, while a strange man finished binding my arm.
“Where am I?” I murmured faintly, and at the moment, mademoiselle
standing back, I saw the short, ill-proportioned figure and large head
of the great czarevna. Then my mind cleared, and I glanced about me,
and beheld the deathlike face of Ramodanofsky. He was stretched upon
another couch, and even in my first bewilderment, I knew that he was
dying. Zénaïde was standing between us, her sweet face full of pain.
Prince Galitsyn sat on the other side of the boyar, holding his hand
and listening to him. The full recollection of the horrible scene swept
over me, and I looked up into Zénaïde’s blue eyes.
“How were you saved?” I asked.
The czarevna answered me. “Tidings came to us, M. le Vicomte,” she
said, “and Prince Galitsyn arrived here in time to beat back the
rabble and save Zénaïde Feodorovna and the other women. It was a band
of Streltsi infuriated because Ramodanofsky had deceived them into
believing him to be one of themselves; they fancied that he had been
playing the part of a spy.”
“And your Highness came also?” I said, wondering.
“I came to protect you, M. le Vicomte, as the envoy of the King of
France,” she replied.
At the sound of my voice, Ramodanofsky turned his eyes in our
direction, and I heard him ask the physician if I would recover,
receiving an affirmative answer.
Sophia turned to him now, with an unusual kindness in her manner.
“You must recover also, Feodor Sergheievitch,” she said cheerfully;
“we cannot afford to lose a newly-found subject.”
The boyar looked at her sadly, and evidently made a strong effort to
speak.
“It is too late, your highness,” he said; “my life was not worth much
at best, for it has been spent in prison and in exile until my strength
was broken and my hopes were dashed forever. I had but the fragment to
offer you, and that has been sacrificed.”
Sophia’s face changed. She showed, in that moment, more feeling than I
had believed that she possessed.
“It is my regret, Feodor Sergheievitch,” she said kindly, “that you
should have suffered this injustice; it was my intention to make some
reparation.”
He looked at her intently, and those stern eyes of his glowed in his
white face.
“Sophia Alexeievna,” he said solemnly, “you are called to a high trust,
and I charge you, never send a man to exile or to prison without being
absolutely convinced of his guilt. It is a cruel thing--a cruel thing.
I look back upon my blasted life and see no light.”
He spoke with passionate feeling, and Galitsyn, bending over, touched
his hand with mute sympathy. Zénaïde was kneeling beside the couch,
her face hidden in his robe. The dying man looked down upon her golden
head, and an expression of pain crossed his features; then looking up,
his eyes met mine.
“M. le Vicomte,” he said, his voice very weak now, “I remember your
suit, and with the czarevna’s permission I will intrust my daughter to
your keeping.”
I saw Sophia start, and Galitsyn looked up quickly. I was stretched
there helpless, unable to rise, but I looked back at the boyar.
“I will prove worthy of your trust, so help me Heaven!” I said firmly.
Ramodanofsky read Sophia’s thoughts.
“Gracious lady,” he said, making a strong effort to speak, “I know
that Zénaïde, as the heiress of my estates, should be your ward, her
hand at your disposal; but it is my desire that she shall wed Philippe
de Brousson, one of her mother’s countrymen. He has signified his
willingness to accept her hand without any dower but my wife’s estate
in France. In her name, I surrender to the czar the lands and estates
in Russia, asking only your permission that she shall marry as I
desire.”
It had cost him dear to speak, and he fell back with a gasp. Sophia
was not without sympathy, and she was also keen enough to see the
advantage of the sudden accession of wealth in the impoverished
treasury. She laid her hand kindly on Zénaïde’s bowed head.
“Rest in peace, Feodor Sergheievitch,” she said; “I will grant your
request. The Vicomte is my friend, and Zénaïde shall be his wife.”
“I thank you,” the dying man said faintly, and his head fell back.
The physician bent over him and administered a restorative, and he
opened his eyes again; but this time they sought only his daughter, who
was clinging to his arm and weeping.
“Farewell, Zénaïde,” he said, in a voice of strange tenderness, “found
so late and lost so soon! Weep not for me, my child; life has had
little sweetness, and perhaps it is best so.”
Mademoiselle Eudoxie was kneeling at the foot of his couch and praying,
and he looked at her and smiled.
“The end is near,” he murmured faintly, looking calmly at us in
farewell; “the end--of a--broken life-- My soul--”
He spoke no more, and a moment later, Prince Galitsyn leaned over him
and made the sign of the cross on his white forehead. The stern spirit
had passed quietly into eternity.
* * * * *
My injuries kept me a prisoner in my room during the weeks that
followed. I was faithfully nursed by Mademoiselle Eudoxie and Pierrot.
Zénaïde was under Sophia’s protection in the Kremlin. I saw nothing of
the scenes of those exciting days,--the pacification of the Streltsi,
the coronation of Peter and Ivan, and the declaration of the regency
of Sophia Alexeievna. The new government was installed, and the city
was comparatively quiet again, when I was well enough to return
to France. I was anxious to claim the fulfillment of the regent’s
promise before she had time to regret it, and pressed my affairs to
an early settlement. One summer morning, a small party assembled in
the Cathedral of St. Michael the Archangel to witness my marriage to
Zénaïde Feodorovna, the czarevna and Prince Galitsyn representing the
bride’s guardians. And I took my fair young wife back to her mother’s
country, followed by faithful Mademoiselle Eudoxie, and by Pierrot,
whose face was no longer stolid, but radiant with joy at the thought
of returning to his own beloved land, where we all found happiness and
repose. The flowers in the old garden of the Tour de Brousson bloomed
with a new beauty to welcome the young mistress, who rejoiced in the
tranquillity of the château with its terraces and its roses glorified
by the sunshine of France.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Minor changes have been made to punctuation, and to regularize spelling
and hyphenation.