Late that same evening Vera had cause to reiterate Sasha's exclamation
that it was well he had come to Moscow.
At ten o'clock there came a loud knocking at the door, and Sasha,
peeping out of an upper window, descried a group of three or four
persons, French officers as he judged from their talk.
Maximof armed himself with pistol and dagger and placed the two old
servants in the entrance hall with orders to keep the visitors covered
with their muskets, but not to fire unless specially told to do so. Vera
awaited developments in a room adjoining the hall, armed and perfectly
composed.
Then Maximof opened the barred door. Three young French officers entered
and closed the door behind them. They laughed to see the two old men
standing with musket to shoulder.
"Tell them to lower their weapons," said the spokesman in French,
addressing Sasha; "I do not speak your infernal language; we mean no
harm but only seek information."
"Let me first understand your errand," said Sasha in his best French.
"The men will not hurt you except at a word from me."
"Well, then, is this the quarter of Moscow known as the Sloboda?" said
the officer. "We are in search of the ladies of the French Theatrical
Company, old friends of ours in Paris, who, we are told, dwell in this
quarter of the city. Maybe you can direct us. You are, I conclude, a
foreigner, or you would be with the army--what we have left of it."
"This is the Sloboda, but I know nothing about your actresses," began
Sasha, but to his horror Vera suddenly made her appearance in the hall,
coming to the door of the room in which she had stationed herself. The
hall was lighted with but a single oil lamp hung over the front door, so
that faces were seen but indistinctly.
"It may be that I can enlighten Monsieur," said Vera; "I overheard his
request for information. The Governor-General caused the removal of the
entire French company three days ago, considering this advisable with a
view to their safety. They are not in Moscow."
"_Sapristi!_" exclaimed the young French officer, who had acted as
spokesman; "that is a voice that I know, though it is too dark to
distinguish faces. Is it possible that I address Mademoiselle Vera
Demidof?" He took a step forward. Sasha instantly barred the way.
"Back, Monsieur," he said. "There is no admittance excepting at
Mademoiselle's orders."
Vera had started at the sound of the officer's voice. "Sasha, it is Paul
de Tourelle," she said; "there is nothing to fear, let him enter."
"What, and these others also?" asked Sasha.
"I will answer for their good behaviour, Monsieur," said Paul. "Perhaps
Mademoiselle will accord me the honour of a few moments conversation
while these gentlemen rest themselves in the hall."
"Yes, I will speak with you--come in here!" Vera indicated the room
which she had quitted a moment before. Maximof took his stand at the
door. He waved his hand to the two old servants. "_Rebyáta_," he said,
"you can lower your muskets but remain here." The two young Frenchmen
stood at the stove to warm themselves. Sasha heard their conversation,
which they took no pains to conceal from his ears.
"Our little Paul has found a friend it seems," said one, laughing; "he
is indeed a wonderful man for the ladies. This will console him for
Clotilde's absence."
"Curses upon the Governor-General, he might at least have left us the
ladies of the Comédie Française!" said the other. "I had looked forward
to seeing my little Jeanne. Maybe the Russian wench was lying, for
reasons of her own."
"Beware what you say here, Monsieur," said Sasha angrily, "or your
friend may find you no longer waiting when he comes forth."
"Pardon, a thousand pardons, Monsieur; I forgot that you spoke our
language," said the officer politely; "do me the favour to regard my
foolish words as unsaid."
The conversation was conducted in whispers from this point and Sasha
heard no more of it.
Meanwhile Paul de Tourelle, so soon as the door was closed behind him,
had made as though he would take Vera's hand and draw her to him, but
she waved him away.
"Do not touch me, Monsieur," she said. "I have admitted you only for
the purpose of making it clear to you that there can at present be no
communication between us. I must regard you as an enemy."
"But, Mademoiselle!" exclaimed Paul, "what is this you say? In Paris we
spoke of love; I hasten to Moscow, whither you have gone before me; I
find you unexpectedly, and you tell me that I have come in vain. Did I
not say that I would meet you in Moscow?"
"And did not I reply that I would rather never see you again than meet
you in Moscow? No, Monsieur. I have no heart for love, no thought to
spare for such matters, for my whole being is at present absorbed in the
sorrows of my dear country. I am glad that I have seen you, since I am
now assured of your safety but----
"Come, let me be thankful for the smallest of mercies!" Paul laughed
bitterly. "At any rate Mademoiselle is relieved to hear that I am not
yet buried beneath the soil of her dear country. We are very far from
the point, however, which we discussed, Mademoiselle, in Paris. At
that time we spoke of love; now it is sufficient for you that I am
alive--_parbleu!_ you are liberal with your favours."
"Monsieur, I will wish you good-night. This conversation can serve no
good end. It is true that in Paris you spoke of love; as for me, I spoke
of a liking which one day might ripen into love; that day has not yet
arrived, Monsieur; at this moment I am inclined to think that it can
never dawn; I unsay all that I said in Paris, which you will remember
was not much."
Paul burst into loud laughter which had, however, no merriment in it.
"I think I understand, Mademoiselle," he said; "the young gentleman
who prefers to act as your doorkeeper rather than take his share in
withstanding the enemies of your country: he is perhaps the fiancé of
whom we once spoke, or maybe a nearer friend----"
"Monsieur, I have wished you good-night."
"Oh, but pardon, Mademoiselle, I have not yet finished that which I have
to say; perhaps Mademoiselle would prefer if I continued and finished
with Monsieur her friend. The matter may be settled without many words."
Vera's face paled a little, but she spoke resolutely. "If Monsieur is
wise," she said, "he will not quarrel with Monsieur le Comte Maximof,
who is at present acting as my protector in this city of many perils;
the servants would not wait to fire their muskets if voices were raised
or threats used. Be wise, Monsieur de Tourelle, and take your departure
in peace. You have no quarrel with my friend, and none, I trust, with
myself."
"Oh, as to yourself, Mademoiselle, I am not deceived; I shall hope to
find compensation elsewhere for Mademoiselle's unkindness. But for the
other matter, that, with your kind permission, shall be as I choose to
decide." Paul bowed and made his exit.
Apparently the decision was for peace. He called to his companions to
come away.
"_Au revoir_, Monsieur," he said to Maximof, at whom he now gazed very
fixedly, as though he would make a note of his features; "I have no
doubt we shall meet again shortly."
"With all my heart," said Sasha, bowing; "for I shall then request
Monsieur to repeat certain words he thought proper to address to me, but
now----"
"Monsieur shall have the words repeated," replied Paul, laughing; "come,
my friends."
"You did not tell us, Paul, that Moscow contained other objects of
familiar interest to you besides Clotilde," his companions observed as
the door closed behind the trio and was fastened by Maximof. "She seemed
_gentile_; may we be introduced perhaps?"
"Bah--you would not thank me. They are sour, these Russian women. This
one has been in Paris, and is, at least, civilised; but she would visit
upon each of you the sin of his Majesty who has declared war upon her
country."
"Patriotism is a virtue, I do not dislike that in her; when the war is
over you shall make us known to this lady of spirit, Paul," said the
other.
"When the war is over," replied Paul, shrugging his shoulders and
laughing, "I may want her myself. Remember, both of you, the face
of that Russian in plain clothes, and if you should see him about
the streets, inform me of it; I have a little bill to settle with my
gentleman."
"What, a case of poaching upon preserved ground?" One of Paul's friends
laughed, and the other remarked: "Poor little Russian if it comes to
accounts with our little Paul de Tourelle! He had better have remained
with the army!"