A strong Legitimist by inheritance, tradition, and personal faith and feeling, the Duc de Salvières recognized that he owed his allegiance to Philippe d’Orléans after having given it unstintingly to his father, the Comte de Paris—the elect of Henry V.—and the inconceivable delay of a final return to monarchy grieved him profoundly. That the Duc d’Orléans should have been incarcerated in a fortress because he had enlisted as a private to serve France had amazed and revolted Salvières, and the fact that the young Duc de Montpensier, brother and heir of the virtual King, should on that account and on no other have been refused the same privilege, and in consequence had entered the service of Spain, had once and for all heartened him. Thus did Pavlo himself become plus Royaliste que le Roy, perhaps, and, moreover, brought up mostly in Russia, he felt the greatest pride in wearing the Czar’s uniform.
To-day there was even the tiniest hint of a swagger in his extraordinarily martial attitude as he met his parents. His handsome young face, his bonny blue eyes and tightly curled short hair—that his mother was wont to call his “copper cap”—were a pleasure to behold, and Piotr, with one of his clown-like bounds, rushed into his arms, shouting, “Aunt Tatiana says you often talk great nonsense, Cousin Pavlo, but I don’t believe it; you are too great a soldier for that.”
There was a general laugh—Pavlo, red as the liséré of his cap, joining in gaily enough, though with a rapid, circular glance to see if any of his loitering comrades had overheard this singular compliment.
“Piotr’s frankness is sometimes embarrassing!” exclaimed Tatiana, leaning on her tall-handled, fluffy parasol. “Indeed, he is becoming so very grown-up that your father and I are thinking of giving him the benefit of travel for his further enlightenment.”
Pavlo, the softest-hearted of budding warriors, whose own home life was and had always been so ideal, was full of the greatest pity for his small cousin. He patted Piotr’s head en camarade, thinking in spite of himself of the catastrophe that had deprived the child of father and mother at one stroke.
“Travels are famous for people who are growing up as fast as my cousin here,” he gravely acquiesced; “but where is the voyage to lead you, my dear father and mother?”
“To Salvières, where, if it is at all possible, I should like you to join us later, ‘Polo.’” Tatiana explained. “Surely you can get leave of absence easily enough.”
Pavlo straightened his slim form and attempted to twist a mustache—which as yet consisted of some easily counted silken threads too blond to be truly noticeable.
“My beloved darling dear,” he exclaimed, “I cannot be spared. Remember the August reviews; they are of the greatest importance, especially this year, when mobilization is so continually on the tapis.”
“And of course they cannot take place without you,” smiled Salvières. “His Majesty would certainly find it difficult to fulfil his Imperial duties without your sword and counsel.”