“See,” said his Eminence, explaining to Iván the intricacies of the hidden spring, “history has it, that Queen Marie Antoinette used these candlesticks as a means of sending private messages to her relatives in Vienna. The secret, apparently, has been well kept, for until now the Hapsburgs never allowed these treasures to stand anywhere but in the Hofburg chapel, and no one, I believe, until this day, has ever seen these mysterious receptacles.”
Volenski had turned pale with suppressed excitement; his hand slightly trembled as, with unwonted eagerness, he now once more examined the Emperor’s candlesticks. He listened to his Eminence with an earnestness which was not wholly that of a mere connoisseur. A wild, a grand idea had suddenly surged in his brain. Here was safety at last: complete, unassailable. A place wherein to deposit the valuable papers that not the most far-seeing Russian official could dream of; moreover, the candlesticks themselves would be in his Eminence’s keeping, and who would dare to touch the belongings of the Papal Nuncio? Now for a little simple diplomacy, and then peace, comfort, freedom from anxiety, till, arrived at St. Petersburg, the papers safely across the frontier, he will have exercised the finest stroke of strategy ever done by any member of the secret society.
“Well, Iván, and what do you think of them?” his Eminence’s voice broke in, on Volenski’s meditations.
“They are certainly most exquisite works of art,” said the young man, pulling himself together, “but I do not wonder that your Eminence is anxious about them; they seem so brittle, so fragile, that one fears damage even in the packing.”
“That is why I dare not trust them to Antoine, and had hoped, Iván, that you would see to the packing for me yourself; my own fingers are old and clumsy: it really requires a woman’s hand.”
“No woman’s hands can be more careful than mine shall be,” said Iván eagerly; “I will see about these things at once. They will be safest, I think, in your Eminence’s own valise, which can then be placed in the coupé, and remain under our own eyes the whole length of the journey.”
“You certainly will be relieving my anxiety very considerably, my dear son, by taking charge of these candlesticks for me. I can assure you, that no diplomatic burden has ever weighed so heavily on my shoulders, as these fragile bibelots.”
Fate seemed definitely to have placed herself in league with Volenski’s project. Being a Pole, he was superstitious, and sought for the mysterious workings of some supernatural agency, in this most ordinary event.
He was brave in danger, with control over his nerves and fears, but this was an eager kind of emotion—that of joy, relief, triumph—and his arms shook, as he carried the precious candlesticks up to his own private room.
He wished to be alone, to think quietly over the matter, not to allow his eagerness to run away with his reason. His comrades’ safety was the important fact to bear in mind, and that he would undoubtedly be furthering, by concealing the papers in the secret receptacle.