‘“Madame,” says her confidante, bending over her, “there is no occasion for your majesty to be astonished. That diadem belonged to your majesty’s aunt, the empress. I have seen her wear it a score of times.”
‘The words supplied, as it were, a flash of light to Catherine, who got up, drew near to the young woman, who, delighted with her triumph, had, like Cinderella, forgotten her promise only to wear the jewel for a moment.
‘“May I ask you, madame,” said the empress, “who is the jeweller who mounted these stones?”
‘The young woman, in her confusion, names the first jeweller she can think of. The empress, after a few insignificant remarks, leaves her, and meanwhile the young woman continues to dance with the ill-fated diadem fastened to her head, more threatening than the sword of Damocles, The empress at once sends an aide-de-camp to inquire of the jeweller in question since when, and for whom, he had mounted that diadem. The jeweller of course denies all knowledge of the affair. The reply comes back immediately. Once more the empress interrogates the young woman.
‘“You have played the fool with me. Your jeweller denies having sold you this diadem. I am determined to know whence it came to you.”
‘The severe tone put an end to the young woman’s faint show of confidence. She stammered and stuttered, and Catherine’s suspicions were soon changed into certainties. The order was immediately given to arrest the two unworthy inspectors. Both, judged and proved guilty, were sent to Siberia; but by a strange freak, he who had sold the pearls in Holland, and transmitted their proceeds to his son, was left in possession, while the diamonds found in the house of the other were carefully brought back to the treasury. When, after some years of expiation the empress pardoned the two culprits, the first might well lay the flattering unction to his soul that justice was, after all, only a fable. The other would for ever curse his want of firmness, which had cost him his reputation and his future career. As for the young woman, she dearly paid for the short-lived satisfaction of her vanity, and the momentary gratification of outvying her rivals.’
After having made the round of the rooms once or twice, Griffiths and I left the Burg early. It was a beautiful evening, and we walked back to the Jaeger-Zeil. Passing before the mansion of the Comte de Rosenberg, we noticed that it was ablaze with light. Servants in resplendent livery crossed the courts carrying salvers with ices and fruits, while from the inside arose the strains of a harmonious band and the sound of many joyous voices.
‘It seems to me,’ I said to my companion, ‘that your countryman, Mr. Raily, treats his royal guest more sumptuously than usual to-day. If he goes on in that way his credit of a million at Arnstein’s won’t go far.’
‘When that’s gone there will be more,’ replied Griffiths. ‘The career of professional gamesters is so thoroughly made up of unforeseen events and strange episodes, fortune comes so often to their aid, that the words “ruin,” “chance,” “audacity,” “opulence” are practically present in every line of their biography. Sometimes among all this there is also a flash of generosity, of devotion, and of downright magnanimity on their part. If the common observer had the clue to the enigma of these existences, then assuredly would vanish the fantastic prestige he fancies he sees in the fate of those Bohemians of Courts, of gambling hells, and palaces.
‘The origin of that credit of a million of florins is connected with a fact which Mr. Rally has told me since our last visit to him,—a fact which marvellously characterises the infinite possibilities of gambling. One morning, an elegant carriage, with four superbly caparisoned horses, their manes flowing in the wind, stopped at the door of Mr. Rally’s temporary residence in Moscow. A man of about thirty, with a frank and open countenance, alighted from it. He sends in his name, and presents himself, with those easy manners which are always a passport for a man who has no other recommendation. “Pray excuse my visit,” he said to Mr. Rally in very pure French, “but I have had the advantage of meeting you now and again in public, and I have presumed upon the circumstance to call upon you. I hope you will excuse the liberty.” When he had seated himself he went on. “The matter I wish to speak to you about is of the highest importance to me, but allow me to ask you for a promise that, whether you consent or refuse to render me the service I have come to ask, you will keep the secret.” Mr. Rally promised at once, and the young man went on. “My name is Soueskof-Feodorowich. I am a merchant of the first class. You are no doubt aware of the rank we occupy among the bourgeoisie. I live in your neighbourhood, but my business house and my habitual home are at Toula. You are, I have been told, an English gentleman who has taken up his quarters for a few months in Moscow, and, like most of your distinguished countrymen, you play heavily and in the noblest manner. That is what is done in Russia, and, for the matter of that, everywhere. But I have been told moreover, monsieur, that you play carefully, and allow me to congratulate you on the fact, for this gives you a great guarantee against being duped. You’ll excuse me if I add that this reputation induced me to present myself to you.” Mr. Rally was somewhat surprised at this preamble, but before he could translate his surprise into words his visitor resumed, “I, monsieur, never gamble. I do not even know a game, but I come in furtherance of an attempt, the success of which will depend upon you, in which gambling will play a part. I have heard you praised for your noble character; I have perfect faith in it, and I have come to place in your hands a possession prized highly by every Englishman—namely, liberty. That word, from my lips, may seem strange to you. The first gift of God after life is liberty. Well, sir, that liberty, without which life is nothing, I am for ever deprived of. I speak of it as the blind hankers after the light. I am a serf, and perhaps it is reserved for you to efface from my forehead that ignominious stigma, that mark of opprobrium which the law compels us to engrave on our doors, that scutcheon of infamy which we inherit from generation to generation, like the sign that God’s finger set on the brow of Cain. My request to you is this. In this vortex which one calls grand society you no doubt meet now and again the Comte K——, an ensign in the regiment of Chevalier Guards. He is one of the young men most in renown at the English Club. He astonishes by his audacity, his display, and his arrogance the most adventurous gamblers!”