My conversation with the Princess Christina had had a great effect upon me. For one thing it had made me more resolved than ever to devote myself to her, whatever might be the consequences; but her words of warning, her evident belief that there was danger for me, and above all her pleasure at my declaration of loyalty to her, had roused all my instincts of caution, while they had strengthened my feelings towards her.
She was shrewd, clear-cut in her views of men and things, devoted to the cause of Bulgaria, and openly allied to the Russian party, whose rough and violent methods she had nevertheless so indignantly decried. What then was her object? Was she playing the doubly hazardous game of attempting to use the Russian influence and power for an end opposed to theirs?
That was the only solution I could see. And it was one which I knew must involve her in a course fraught with such peril, that only a woman of iron nerve and implacable will could contemplate it without fear. And yet she was brave enough to take such a course without, so far as I knew, a single man trained in state-craft and intrigue to help her. Could I take such a rôle? The mere thought of the possibility filled me with enthusiasm not unmixed with much embarrassment.
If my surmise was right, I felt that her scheme was just that which our Foreign Office would do their utmost to assist; and, in helping her to gain the throne on such terms, I should be fulfilling in the best possible way the object of my presence in the country. But I knew, too, that open help from the British Government was impossible. That had been made unmistakably plain to me, and I must make it equally clear to her. Her advice to make the most of my British nationality might have been prompted by a belief that our Government would help her, and I must show her the groundlessness of any such hope.
At the same time, the course she had indicated agreed best with my own views: to maintain an open neutrality between the contending sections while devoting myself to her interests. Her whole object must be put fully before me, however; and I resolved to speak very frankly that afternoon. The prospect of the close association with her was infinitely alluring, and it required more than a single effort to drag my thoughts away from dwelling upon this to the more practical consideration of other matters. To secure that friendship I would willingly venture all that I had in the world; and I had but to think of it for my heart to be thrilled and my senses dazzled.
But what of the Duke Sergius and the story of the secret betrothal? The man was a selfish, sensual brute, as I had seen for myself. Was it possible that she would even go to the length of sacrificing herself in a marriage with such a man to secure her end? Then I recalled a sentence of Mademoiselle Broumoff’s: “A man whose eyes we have always to blind;” and I repeated it over and over again, till at last I grew to read it by the light of my own wild, vague thoughts and hopes—that there was no betrothal, but that the pretended agreement to it was a part of the subtler plot which my Princess was weaving. The thought of such a betrothal was maddening to me, and I worked myself up until I thought I would rather pick a quarrel with him and run him through the heart than see her condemned to be the wife of such a brute.
I was cooler, however, when I returned to my hotel, and my wits were clear and wary enough as I set out for General Kolfort’s house. I was well received, but he made haste to show me that he knew already of the fact of my captain’s commission.
“I am glad to see you, Count Benderoff—or shall I say Captain?”
“Choose your own form of salutation, General. It was of that matter I came to see you,” I returned.
“Is that all?”