“Speak! make haste, was he saved? is he still alive, this officer?” said the count, impatiently.
At that moment they were both standing on the water side. The silvery waves gently rippled up to the stone steps. In the distance, in the dim twilight, the outline of a ship with her sails furled was just discernible.
“To-morrow,” said the stranger, “I leave Venice on that schooner; but before sailing, or answering your question, I should like—excuse me—to know … whether the Count du Nord, on ascending the throne, will be more indulgent to me than the ministers of his august parent? Will he allow me then to visit that country again, whatever the tenor of my answer concerning that naval officer?”
The deep agitation which Pavel had experienced, on relating his adventure with the apparition, had already subsided, and he was regaining his self-composure. The question of the man aroused his indignation.
“Impudent, audacious impostor,” thought he, in a fit of suspicious anger. “What insolence! and what a turn he has given to the conversation. Street acrobat! charlatan!…”
Pavel could scarcely contain himself, and crushed his glove in his hand.
“According to your own words it is rather difficult to answer for the future,” said he thoughtfully, after a short pause. “Nevertheless, I am convinced, that on a second journey to Russia, you will meet with a reception more polite and more befitting a foreigner.”
His interlocutor bowed profoundly.
“So you wish to know the fate of that naval officer?” he said.
“Yes,” answered Pavel, prepared, however, to hear some tomfoolery, some imposture.