A few moments elapsed, then the door was gently opened from without; the deaf-mute valet went up towards it. The thought of making a rush for that same door may have presented itself to Nicholas’ mind then, but fortunately the humiliation of an unsuccessful attempt was spared him, for behind the door stood two stalwart moujiks, equally mute as their comrade, and equally correct in bearing; one of them stepped forward, and with deep obeisance presented a letter to the Tsarevitch, who tore it open impatiently.
A few words only, to tell him what he already knew, that he was a helpless prisoner without hope of escape. His life inviolate, but held as hostage, pending negotiations with his exalted father, which no doubt would soon terminate in the most satisfactory way. And in the meanwhile the lodgings, poor as they were, were entirely at the august prisoner’s disposal, as well as the three deaf-mute moujiks told off to do his bidding.
Nicholas Alexandrovitch called himself a fool, then tried to become a philosopher. He had every confidence in the far-seeing, far-reaching police of his country, trusted to Lavrovski to use every effort and despatch, and resigned himself to the inevitable with the characteristic placidity of his race. One last tribute to youth and folly he paid, when he felt an aching pang at the thought that the provoking odalisque had only used her blandishments for purposes so far removed from his poetic imaginings. The next half-hour saw the heir to the Tsar of all the Russias eating a sumptuous supper all alone—and a prisoner—with youthful appetite, and no thoughts for the morrow.
As for Count Lavrovski, in attendance upon his Imperial Highness, he, no doubt, was in a worse position than his abducted charge.
To have allowed the Tsarevitch, for whom he was, so to speak, responsible, to so completely slip through his fingers, was an event unparalleled in the history of a Russian courtier. No doubt, the case being unprecedented, the punishment would be equally so, and Lavrovski already, half an hour after the Tsarevitch’s disappearance, could, when shutting his eyes, see visions of convicts, of prisons, of mines, and Siberia.
Half an hour is a long time for the son of the Tsar to remain unattended, and when two or three hours had slipped by, and the crowds of mummers had begun to thin, Lavrovski began enduring mental tortures he had up to that time had no conception of. And when presently, at some small hour of the morning, the last of the giddy throng were preparing to depart, the old Russian still sat staring into the crowd, cramped in body, and with mental faculties rendered numb with nameless terrors.
The officials asked him to leave; the lights were being turned out, and Lavrovski had perforce to leave his box and find his way into the streets. One or two discreet questions from porters and attendants about an odalisque and a domino brought only mirth for an answer. Fifty odalisques, two thousand dominoes, had passed up and down the opera-house steps during the last few hours.
At the Hotel Imperial the sleepy hall porter had not seen the young stranger, and the Russian valet, the only other attendant on the Tsarevitch, made a mute inquiry as to his master, which he dared not put into words.
This man would have to be told something; he was trustworthy; might be of help. Lavrovski told him half a truth.
The Tsarevitch had thought fit to go on a young man’s escapade. They two must keep that a secret; Nicholas Alexandrovitch might return to-morrow, he might be away some days. Count Lavrovski could not say; he relied on Stepán to be discreet.