When I told Vera of my disappointment and of the Tsar’s boast that he had left her to me as an act of friendliness, she flushed and told me that he had left her, indeed, to me, but out of no friendliness. ‘Ask him what befell when he grew more familiar than was pleasing to me?’ she said. And though I did not ask his Highness, I know now that Vera actually boxed the Tsar’s ears on one occasion, thereby immensely raising his respect for her as well as his admiration, though not his affection, which had already begun to wane in favour of others. The Tsar Peter’s heart was ever of the butterfly nature, flitting from flower to flower and remaining longest there where most honey is obtainable.
To which respect and admiration of the Tsar Vera added much when presently she went with me to claim forgiveness for her father.
The Tsar grew angry when Vera proffered her request, but when he made a show of refusing it Vera grew angry also.
‘A worthy Tsar, thou!’ she exclaimed, ‘that beginnest thy reign by taking vengeance upon old men, and by breaking promises to those who have well served thee!’
‘What mean you by that, minx?’ exclaimed Peter angrily. ‘May I not punish those who have offended me? And as for promises, what promise have I made that I will not one day redeem?’
‘My father was loyal to the Regent while her Highness claimed the obedience of the Boyars. Is there offence in that? If thou hadst been reigning Tsar instead of a Tsar in leading-strings, and he had lent thee treasure and men, would that have been a crime? Up to the moment of thy proclamation the Boyars were her Highness’s men, not thine. To-day my father would serve thee, even as he served the Regent.’
‘Well, we shall see; it may be that I shall test his loyalty through his purse,’ said Peter, laughing. As to the broken promise—is this fellow Chelminsky thy husband, that thou shouldst speak thus boldly for him?’
‘As forever he has been husband of my heart, let woo who would!’ said Vera.
The Tsar flushed and looked for a moment as though he would reply passionately; but though his face worked and his head jerked round in the manner I have since learned to know as the forerunner of that cruel mood into which he too frequently relapses now in middle age, he recovered himself and laughed aloud.
‘By the Majesty of Saint Cyril, wench,’ he said, ‘thou art a bold one: darest thou marry such a minx, Chelminsky?’