"Ah," she said, suddenly, "my heart is all in tune with the fallen Mellikoff. I wonder, monsieur, what is to be the nature of his punishment, and what his—destination?"
But the wary minister was not to be caught even by Vera's casuistry.
"Punishment is so entirely a relative matter," he replied. "I, for instance, can imagine no severer sentence, no more desolate outlook than to be shut away for ever from the light and sweetness of the Countess Vera's presence."
"A thousand thanks," she answered quickly. "I appreciate your chivalry, monsieur; but when one adds the mines, or a casemate in Petropavlovsk, to the lesser evil—what then?"
"Neither are to be desired, madame," he replied, gravely, "and neither can ever come within the experience of the Countess Vera. The mines, and Petropavlovsk, are for those who betray, or mock at, Russia; not for loyal subjects of his Majesty."
"Loyalty is such a very big word," sighed the Countess flippantly; and then she flew away with a laughing gesture. But to herself she said:
"I know your destination now, my poor friend. I back a woman's wits against a statesman's imperturbability. Alas! poor Vladimir!"
It was as the Countess Vera had said. Ivor Tolskoi had triumphed beyond his most sanguine hopes. Olga was now his formally betrothed bride, and the marriage day was in the immediate future.
With the arrest of Adèle Lallovich in Petersburg, came the downfall of Mellikoff's mission, and the ruin of all his cleverly-laid schemes. He would reach Russia only to find his disgrace had preceded him, and only to find distrust and displeasure on every side. He too well knew the nature of Russia's resentment, to strive to stem the current that set so steadily against him.
It was worse than useless to expect such a thing as justice, at the hands of the Chancellerie, or to look for condonement from the Council.