Almost at the same moment the Marquis de Vaucluse was seen descending the stairs in a state of perturbation very unusual with him.
“Has Benningsen told you?” he began. “Do you know that——”
“He has told me, mon père,” replied Pauline. “I know—more than you think,” she added to herself.
The Ambassador was too much excited to notice how dejected his daughter was looking.
“Horses to the door!” he cried; and while the order was being executed he walked to and fro, muttering, “This event, I fear, will bring no good to the First Consul.”
And it was with a very rueful look that he drove to the Winter Palace. If the Ambassador were gloomy, so, too, was his daughter. Wrapped in moody thought, she remained standing where her father had left her, till Wilfrid’s voice put an end to her reverie. And very curious it was to notice how quickly Pauline’s face brightened as soon as she became aware of his presence.
“Dare you venture abroad with me this morning?” was her first question; in the circumstances, a surprising one to Wilfrid.
“Is not this a somewhat rash act on your part?” he objected. “In rescuing a prisoner of the Czar, you made yourself amenable to arrest.”
“The Czar,” replied Pauline, without naming what Czar, “is about to issue an amnesty to all political prisoners.”