CHAPTER VII.
I CONVEY A LETTER.
“What does it all mean? Who is she? What is she? A pretender, or a Russian grand duchess?” thought I, as, full of contending thoughts, I left the room of the Princess, and with faltering steps passed between the persons of her suite, who saluted me right and left with the greatest respect.
At the perron[16] I noticed several carriage-horses, adorned with velvet and feathers. On entering the hotel I heard the clattering of horses’ hoofs. Going to the window, I saw the Princess, surrounded by her courtiers, riding fearlessly on a beautiful white horse. The cavalcade flew by on the road to Ragusa.
For several days I could not get rid of the most agitating ideas. I hardly left my room, walking backwards and forwards, then lying down, then writing letters, only, however, to tear them up again, and constantly thinking, “How could I, remembering the oath of allegiance which I had taken on entering the service? What ought I to do regarding the proposition of this mysterious Princess?”
One day her secretary, Charnomski, came to pay me a visit. He was a smart, elegantly-dressed man of about forty. He had once been very rich, had been a duellist and a Lovelace, had lost all his fortune at cards and in the affairs of the Confederation. He had not lost his fine manners, but was very conceited and insinuating, and—so rumour said—was serving the Princess because he was deeply in love with her. The conversation turned on the Princess. He was eloquent on the subject of her generosity, her fearlessness, and, having assured me on oath that all she had said of her past life was true, again renewed, in her name, an entreaty that I would side with her.
“But whose daughter is she? who was her father?” I asked, rather drily. “You only speak in her favour, but there must be proofs. Everything is so very doubtful.”…
Charnomski reddened, and was silent several minutes.
It seemed to me at that time that this Princess’s Ganymede curled and pomatumed in the last fashion, with his diamond ear-rings, was rouged.
“Good heavens! what doubts! Her father—do you not know it yourself?—was the Count Alexis Razoumovski,” said this wily diplomatist, regaining his composure. “But if you desire it, sir lieutenant, I can give you all the details. You see, the Empress Elizabeth, after her secret marriage with the count, had several children——”