The Princess turned towards her companion, and said in a hurried broken voice:
"You are wrong, Marcelline,--you are quite wrong; I was not thinking of anything of the kind. I was only thinking of this horrible journey to Russia. It terrifies me."
"Yes; but everything terrifies you, you know. How odd that Madame la Princesse should not be enthousiasmé at the prospect of beholding the ancestral home of Monsieur le Prince, of being presented to the gracious and urbane monarch who rules the Russias and the Russians! They are a little difficult to rule as individuals, I fear; but as a nation, no doubt, charming. I should have thought madame would have seized the occasion with transport."
"Marcelline," pleaded Laura, "don't laugh at me; I am in deadly terror of this journey. You can save me from it if you will. Do, do, Marcelline! It is all dreadful enough even here, where I have some protection--where at least he dares not kill me. But if I am taken there, to his dreadful country, I shall be quite helpless in his hands. He might kill me there, and none would interfere--no one would even know, perhaps."
"How ignorant she is!" thought Mademoiselle Marcelline, "and how cowardly! He has impressed himself upon her tolerably effectually, this lacquered savage, and she has succumbed. These Englishwomen are very shallow after all, no matter how bad they may be."
The Princess still pleaded, and Mademoiselle Marcelline, having derived sufficient amusement just then from her companion's weakness, and being somewhat fatigued by her importunity, told her at length, and shortly, that she desired to enjoy the drive, and therefore intended to change the subject. For her part, she did not particularly care about going to Russia; she understood that travelling in that empire had not been sufficiently systematized on that scale of comfort indispensable to persons of condition; and, on the whole, she rather thought they were not likely to go to Russia just then.
Madame Seymour's apartments in the Hôtel Tchernigow were among the most luxurious and elegant which that palatial edifice contained. They were inferior to those of the Princess in size alone; in every detail of comfort and sybarite ease they equalled hers. A tiny and delicious little boudoir made one of the suite; and this beautiful retreat was the scene that same evening of a rather remarkable conversation. The speakers were the mistress of the gem-like apartment and Prince Tchernigow. The former-dressed in the most tasteful and becoming evening dress it was possible for human milliners to concoct, and adorned with jewels, which also differed from those worn by the Princess chiefly by their size-and the latter, in his usual faultless attire, had met in the boudoir previous to accompanying the Princess to the very last entertainment at which they intended to appear.
"Well, Marcelline," said the Prince, "you did me the honour to summon me. What is it? Merely that I should tell you that you never looked so charming?"
"For nothing of the sort," said she, putting aside the compliment as beneath her notice and beside the question; "I sent for you to tell you that the Princess does not wish to go to St. Petersburg. She is nervous, I believe, and has some strange notions of the impunity of Russian princes on their own versts. At all events, she does not wish to go."
"I am perfectly aware of that fact, Madame Seymour," said the Prince, with a peculiar smile; "but we are going to St. Petersburg, quand même."