"The proof of my own eyes," replied Ivor, hotly, "I tell you, chief, Mellikoff is deceiving you for reasons of his own, for I, this very morning, since I parted with you, have stood face to face with Adèle Lamien, who calls herself Adèle Lallovich!"
"You, Ivor, impossible!" cried Patouchki, "you have seen her, and here in Petersburg, in broad daylight! And where?"
"As I stood within the door of St. Isaac's this morning," answered Tolskoi, "the mass was just begun, and she had been kneeling—prostrated I should say—before the statue of our Lady of Kazan. Something familiar in the lines of her figure struck me even then, and presently as the miserere bells rang the quarter, she arose and came towards me, her veil thrown back, the whiteness of her face and the distinctness of her features thrown out vividly against her black apparel. She passed me rapidly, pulling down her veil impetuously, as she fled out and down the steps before I could put out my hand to stop her, and when I reached the pavement she had disappeared. But I tell you, chief, as I hope to be saved at the hour of my death, it was the face of Adèle Lallovich into which I looked for that brief interval."
"Impossible!" again ejaculated Patouchki. "Impossible that she should be here, in Petersburg, and the Chancellerie remain ignorant of her arrival. She is a marked woman to all our emissaries, how could she come and go, without disguise even, and we remain in ignorance? No, no, my good Ivor, your eyes mislead you this time; with all her arrogant bravery Adèle Lamien knows better than to put her head in the lion's jaws, or herself in the power of the Chancellerie."
"I tell you I saw her," repeated Tolskoi, obstinately, "believe me or not, chief, I saw her, and no other."
"But my dear Ivor," began Patouchki, persuasively, when a groom of the chambers entered hurriedly, and bidding them make haste, as their Majesties were even then descending the staircase, cut short the chief's oratory, and caused both him and Tolskoi to hasten their footsteps towards the side door, which now stood open with footmen and lacqueys on either side, holding the fur robes, foot-muffs and wraps of the Imperial party.
As Ivor and Tolskoi emerged from the side corridor, the Tsarina reached the entrance and paused a moment for her attendants to clasp the magnificent cloak of sables about her slight figure. Very sweet and delicate, and somewhat sad was the face that looked out from the clinging furs, with a touch of the same melancholy that at times rests on her English sister's brow, and with more than a similitude of her gentleness and sympathy. As she crossed the threshold the slightest possible shrinking or timidity caused her to hesitate for one brief moment, then she took her place in the Royal equipage, and her face, as she turned it towards her husband, wore a brave courageous smile.
Poor Tsarina! though wrapped about on every side with all luxury, yet never to realise the happiness of confidence; never to feel secure, even in your strictest seclusion; never to know when the cruel bullet, sent with a fatally true aim, may end your tenure of greatness, and send you back to your magnificent palace, a heart-broken, lonely widow!
Behind the Empress came the Tsar, dressed, as was often his pleasure, in the scarlet kaftan of his own guard, and by which he signified his desire to remain incognito. Following him were Olga Naundorff and the Emperor's equerry, who, with Patouchki and Ivor, formed the Royal suite.
The Tsarina in passing had acknowledged Tolskoi's presence by a gracious recognition, which sent the young man's blood running hotly through his veins, flushing his face and brightening his eyes. Ivor was every inch an Imperialist, and he loved his gentle Tsarina Dagmar with a real and chivalrous devotion; the latent sadness in her eyes and the pathos of her smile touched the most responsive chords of his cold and selfish nature, and awoke in him the purest sentiment of his heart.