“Those papers—but you know their purport well enough—mean the exposure of Russian craft in every Court in Europe, with probably a war with the Powers that have been tricked and fooled. They know already that we have secret information, and we have been in negotiation with them. But I am a Russian, too, and planned this interview, hoping that when face to face with you I could touch the heart so long dead to the cries of friendship. I have failed; I see that. You will not remember; you cannot forget; even for you that would be impossible. You have denied me justice, but I thank my God you cannot take from me all my revenge.”
Her passion was rising fast now under the stimulus of her remembered wrongs, and she went to the door and threw it open.
“Go, monsieur, go,” she cried, with a magnificent gesture of defiance. “Cross the threshold in the mood you are, and as I live, those papers, proofs as they are of your ministers’ infamous treachery, shall be in the hands already stretched out eagerly to receive them—the hands of Russia’s enemies. That is what I mean. Go, monsieur, go—if you dare.” She held the door open and stared at me in indignant defiance and challenge.
Was ever a man caught in a closer meshed net than that which held me at that moment?
I stood fumbling with the situation in sheer and desperate perplexity. I remembered old Kalkov’s words that the papers might plunge the country into war, and that at any cost they must not be allowed to get into the hands of the Powers concerned. Yet if I left the house it was straight to those Powers they would go.
If, on the other hand, I remained, what could I do?
If I admitted to Helga that I was no Emperor, but a fraud, her anger would probably be increased, and she would carry out her purpose just the same. While if I went on playing at being Emperor, and listened to her story, I could do no good. It was out of my power to grant her the justice which she deemed had been denied. I should only be cheating her and emphasizing the lie which my presence as Emperor constituted.
To fall back on old Kalkov and curse him for having got me into the mess was comforting but unpractical; and I stood like a fool, probably looking the fool I felt, as I gnawed my moustache and twisted my beard in imbecile indecision.