Emboldened by these words, and moved by a sudden impulse, Marie kissed Wilfrid, placed her arms about his neck, and, facing the Czar, said, with a proud light shining from her eyes:—
“I belong to Wilfrid, not to you.”
She was never dearer to Wilfrid than at that moment as she stood with her arms about him—to the Czar, proud and defiant, to him, all tenderness and trust. However questionable the nature of his triumph, Wilfrid would have been more than human had he not felt a thrill of pleasure. His dashing audacity could rise no higher: henceforth it must descend; he could never hope to surpass the feat of hearing an empress declare her love for him in the very presence of her husband.
Alexander drew his sword with intent to wreak vengeance upon the man who had stolen his wife’s heart.
Pauline, trembling all over, threw herself in his way.
“No, no!—for God’s sake—your Majesty—you are risking your life! Consider your rank—Sasha!”
WILFRID DREW HIS OWN BLADE AND ASSUMED AN ATTITUDE OF DEFENCE.
“By Neva’s Waters.” [Page 299.]