The Marquis grew uneasy. When his daughter assumed that look and that tone, he knew full well that she would have her way in spite of him. Has he been the only man to be ruled by his daughter?
“Why did you do this thing?” he asked, smiting his gloves together in a helpless fashion.
“To teach a tyrant that liberty is not yet dead in St. Petersburg.”
The Marquis gave her a glance intended as a caution not to speak too freely in the presence of the Czar’s lieutenant. Then, after a moment’s pause, he drew her aside out of the hearing of Voronetz.
“Of course, matiushka,” he said, using the endearing term which the foreigner in Russia soon learns to apply indiscriminately to all women, “of course, little mother, we know, between ourselves, that this kneeling to the Czar is a degrading piece of servility, and I can quite sympathise with Lord Courtenay in his attitude. But your action, Pauline, has put us all in the wrong. If you desired him to be set free it should have been done in proper form. A joint note from the ambassadors would have procured his release. As matters now stand, Paul will be justified in demanding Lord Courtenay’s surrender. The meekest ruler in the world cannot submit to have his authority flouted as you have flouted it. Nom de Dieu! Pauline, what were you thinking of?”
“Not of the niceties of diplomatic observance, you may be sure. But do not look so troubled, mon père. The Czarovitch shall get us out of our difficulty. Go and lay the matter before him. Ask him to persuade his father to pardon the Englishman. He is sure to succeed. You know how Paul—it’s his only good point—respects the judgment of Alexander. ‘I must consult the Grand Duke,’ he says, when in a state of doubt. ‘He has a fine sense of justice.’ Go at once, before Paul has had time to learn that his prisoner has been rescued. The work of persuading him will be easier then.”
“Alexander certainly could effect this for us,” said the Marquis musingly. “The question is, will he?”
“He will, if you say that it is the wish of Pauline.”
The Ambassador gave her a sharp, penetrating look, as if he would fain learn the reason for this belief of hers.
“Was he not present at our ball here last week?” remarked Pauline, answering her father’s unspoken question. “He danced with me four times, and was extremely gracious; nay, did he not say if ever I should have a grievance that he could set right, I was not to hesitate to apply to him? Mon père, we’ll make him redeem that promise. Tell him that Pauline de Vaucluse is a prisoner in her father’s Embassy, unable to stir out, because she has made herself amenable to arrest by thwarting the Czar’s will. He’ll soon set matters right, and you’ll return with a free pardon both for Lord Courtenay and your mischievous daughter. But first you’ll see our visitor?”