The reader may not be aware that there is no part of the globe where there are so many dwarfs as at Saint Petersburg; there is scarcely an hotel belonging to a noble family without one or two, if not more; they are very kindly treated, and are, both in appearance and temper, very superior to the dwarfs occasionally met with elsewhere. One of this diminutive race now entered the room, dressed in a Turkish costume; he was remarkably well made and handsome in person; he spoke sufficient French to inquire if he addressed himself to Captain O’Donahue; and on being replied to in the affirmative, he gave him a small billet, and then seated himself on the sofa with all the freedom of a petted menial. O’Donahue tore open the note; it was very short:—
“As I know you cannot communicate with me, I write to say that I was delighted at your having kept your promise. You shall hear from me again as soon as I know where I can meet you; in the meantime, be cautious. The bearer is to be trusted; he belongs to me.
“C.”
O’Donahue pressed the paper to his lips, and then sat down to reply. We shall not trouble the reader with what he said; it is quite sufficient that the lady was content with the communication, and also at the report from her little messenger of the Captain’s behaviour when he had read her billet.
Two or three days afterwards, O’Donahue received a note from a German widow lady, a Countess Erhausen, particularly requesting he would call upon her in the afternoon, at three o’clock. As he had not as yet had the pleasure of being introduced to the countess, although he had often heard her spoken of in the first society, O’Donahue did not fail in his appointment, as he considered that it was possible that the Princess Czartorinski might be connected with it; nor was he deceived, for on his entering the saloon, he found the princess sitting on the sofa with Madame Erhausen, a young and pretty woman, not more than twenty-five years of age. The princess rose, and greeted Captain O’Donahue, and then introduced the countess as her first cousin. A few minutes after his introduction, the countess retired, leaving them alone. O’Donahue did not lose this opportunity of pouring out the real feelings of his heart.
“You have come a long way to see me, Captain O’Donahue, and I ought to be grateful,” replied the princess: “indeed, I have much pleasure in renewing our acquaintance.”
O’Donahue, however, did not appear satisfied with this mere admission: he became eloquent in his own cause, pointed out the cruelty of having brought him over to see her again if he was not to be rewarded, and after about an hour’s pleading he was sitting on the sofa by her side, with her fair hand in his, and his arm round her slender waist. They parted, but through the instrumentality of the little dwarf, they often met again at the same rendezvous. Occasionally they met in society, but before others they were obliged to appear constrained and formal; there was little pleasure in such meetings, and when O’Donahue could not see the princess his chief pleasure was to call upon Madame Erhausen and talk about her.
“You are aware, Captain O’Donahue,” said the countess one day, “that there will be a great difficulty to overcome in this affair. The princess is a sort of ward of the emperor’s, and it is said that he has already, in his own mind, disposed of her hand.”
“I am aware of that,” replied O’Donahue; “and I know no other means than running away with her.”
“That would never do,” replied the countess; “you could not leave Petersburg without passports; nor could she leave the palace for more than an hour or two without being missed. You would soon be discovered, and then you would lose her for ever.”