“I do not see why you should not say. It concerns both the objections and accounts for them,” she said.
“The Duchess Stephanie is already my wife, monsieur,” said Boreski.
“The devil she is,” I exclaimed in genuine astonishment. “That puts the whole thing on a totally different footing.”
“It entails the consent being dated back, and makes the dowry payable at once, monsieur.”
“It means also that you have put your head in a noose, and have forfeited the Duchess’s fortune, since her marriage has taken place without my—without the Emperor’s consent;” and I folded up the papers and put them back in my pocket.
“It certainly produces a quite interesting complication,” said Helga, smiling.
“It does not affect the gravity of the papers I hold here,” and Boreski tapped them slowly with his long white fingers.
For the life of me I couldn’t see a way out of the maze. Had I been really the Emperor, I might have done it by sending instructions to old Kalkov to pay the million roubles; then by writing a fresh consent to the marriage I could have secured the papers, and so have made an end of the thing.
But I felt that Kalkov would only laugh at such a request from me, while of course I could not write a single word without the discrepancy of the handwriting being at once apparent.
I was loth to go back and admit my failure; but this I saw at length was the only resource. Every moment that I hesitated made the affair worse, so I put as bold a front on matters as I could and got up.