Alexander received this message with a frown.
“I am occupied on matters of State, and cannot see her now.”
In the ante-chamber, arrayed in deep mourning that enhanced, rather than detracted from her beauty, stood Alexander’s wife, the youthful Elizavetta, receiving with a gracious air the congratulations of the ministers on her accession to Imperial rank.
Upon this little circle the Emperor’s cold and curt message fell like a bolt from the blue.
Too proud to venture into Alexander’s presence after such a rebuff, the Empress turned away, affecting an air of unconcern, though in her eyes could be seen the glitter of tears.
“The devil!” growled Benningsen. “Baranoff has the laugh on us. He has become of more moment than the Czarina herself!”
CHAPTER XIV
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
On the second night after the death of the Czar Paul, it happened that Wilfrid was sitting over a newspaper in his private room at the Hôtel d’Angleterre, when a sound caused him to look up.
There, a few paces off, stood a young man, wrapped in a long cloak that glistened with the moisture deposited, apparently, by a heavy fog. He was perhaps not more than twenty years of age, singularly mild and placid of countenance, and with light blue eyes marked by a somewhat odd expression; they appeared to be looking straight at Wilfrid without seeing him.