“This time, at least, you are the bearer of it,” she replied, smiling faintly. “And I can trust you to tell me frankly. What is it?”
I told her plainly everything. First, the warning which the Russian officer, Captain Wolasky, had given me on the previous evening; and his strong advice that she should fly before it was too late. Then, in great detail, all that had passed between the Prince and myself that morning.
She was very pale and much agitated as my narrative proceeded; but she interrupted me scarcely once, and at the close sank back in her seat, and with her hands across her eyes remained buried in thought.
“It is hard news to hear,” she said despondently. “You say it spells the ruin of everything.”
“It is to the full as hard for me to tell as for you to hear,” I answered gently. “But it is no moment to flinch from the facts, however ugly. I fear it means the ruin of everything.” At my gloomy words she shuddered, and sat for some minutes silent in dismay. When she turned her face to me, it was so full of anguish and pain that it made my heart ache.
“How can I save those whom I have involved in this?”
“We are thinking of you, Princess,” I answered.
“Oh no, no, not of me!” she exclaimed vehemently. “For myself I care nothing. Heaven knows, my motives have not been inspired by mere personal ambition. I do not crave a throne, but I have longed with a passion I cannot perhaps make you feel, to spread the blessing of freedom among the people. For this end I have striven; and now it seems I have failed. Do not think of me. I will not think of myself. But to bring others to ruin is more than I can endure. Tell me—what do you advise? What can I do?”
“There seem but two courses open,” I said, and told her what Zoiloff and I had agreed together.
“You did not think that I would fly and leave those who have rallied to my cause to bear the brunt while I was seeking the coward’s refuge of safety?” she asked, half indignant that I should even have suggested it.