Mentchikof regarded me gravely, a certain intelligence in his glance.
“He is a very accomplished young gentleman,” he said, smiling, “and I understand that he is betrothed to Najine Zotof.”
Now, I knew that Mentchikof was aware that there was no formal betrothal, and I began to suspect his motive. Bearing in mind the czar’s words, I was cautious.
“It is news to me, monsieur,” I said with assumed surprise; “surely M. de Lambert did not inform you?”
Mentchikof shrugged his shoulders.
“Not in words, M. le Maréchal,” he replied suavely; “but such things cannot be hidden. The little birds about a court carry the news.”
I felt a strong desire to make him drink of his own medicine and replied in kind.
“It is sometimes dangerous, monsieur,” I said, “to listen to the whispers of such little birds. In France I have known it to cost a man his head.”
He flushed a little, and I saw a gleam of anger in his eyes; but he was too astute to allow me to ruffle his serenity.
“An easy way of removing his ears, monsieur,” he replied calmly, “but I regret to hear that there is so little foundation for my information. I regret it, you understand. M. le Vicomte, it seemed to me, and to others, that Najine Zotof’s marriage with M. de Lambert would be a subject for rejoicing. I trust that it may yet be arranged.”