Colonel Menken regarded me with ironical contempt as I tried to apologize for my hinted distrust of his betrothed.
“That will do, my man. I shall tell the Princess of your blunder, and I can assure you she will be heartily amused by it.”
“At least you will remember that I wear his imperial majesty’s uniform,” I ventured. “And, however much I have been misled as to the intentions of her highness, I submit that I am entitled to secrecy on your part.”
“Am I to understand that some one has given you orders referring to the Princess? I thought this was simply some idle suspicion of your own?”
“My instructions were to watch over your safety, without letting you perceive it, and to take particular note of any one who seemed to be trying to form your acquaintance on the journey. If you now denounce me to her highness, she will be annoyed, and in any case I shall be of no further use to you.”
“So much the better,” the Colonel said rudely. “I consider your being here at all as an act of impertinence. If I engage to say nothing to the Princess—who, as you say, might be annoyed—will you undertake to leave me alone for the future?”
“I will undertake to leave the train at Tomsk,” I replied.
Colonel Menken closed with this offer, which was meant as a delusive one. I had selected the first important stopping-place at which the train waited sufficiently long for me to procure the materials of a fresh disguise.
I took the train superintendent into my confidence, as far as to say that I wished to assume a false character for the remainder of the journey in order to be better able to play the spy on the object of my suspicion. We agreed that one of the train attendants should be put off at Tomsk, and that I should take his place.