Zénaïde, seeing instantly an opportunity for delay, was all complaisance.
“You shall be gratified,” she said sweetly. “Philippe, lead us with a light.”
Madame Zotof was a little dashed by her ready compliance, but, still full of suspicion, followed her closely, as I took the taper, and, opening the door, conducted them slowly through the rooms. Zénaïde consumed much time by insisting that Madame Zotof should look behind every arras and into every cupboard, and Madame, full of doubt and eagerness, peered into the crevices and behind the doors; her husband following with a stolid obstinacy that did not permit him to see how entirely they were playing into my wife’s hands. As we passed on without success, madame’s face fell, and I saw the suspicion in her pale eyes grow more intense as she began to realize that there was a possibility that her niece had evaded her, even though we were both in the house. At the door of my wife’s apartment I detained the councillor, and the two women went in alone, while we stood on the threshold. It was a strange scene; the room was brightly lighted both with tapers and by the logs blazing on the hearth. The walls were covered with tapestries, and Madame Zotof went about lifting them up and searching for the truant, while Zénaïde stood in the center of the room, her figure clearly outlined in its dignified repose, and a smile of scorn on her face, her blue eyes following the other woman’s quick movements. Never were two women so strongly contrasted; the fine form and stately head of Madame de Brousson dwarfing the smaller figure of Madame Zotof, whose face was naturally homely and shrewish; her eyes of that cold, pale blue that is opaque, and her mouth like a slit, while her chin projected. She had too an affectation of youth that was absurd. When she had quite completed her investigation and was satisfied that mademoiselle was not there, she paused a moment confounded.
“You have had the pleasure of searching my house, Madame Zotof,” Zénaïde said with a cold smile, “and now I have the pleasure of asking you to leave it with what speed you may.”
She spoke with scorn, and Madame Zotof recoiled before the unexpected attack; she felt that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety, and that my wife was justified in her retort. After a moment she recovered and made a sweeping curtsy.
“You carry things with a high hand, madame,” she said bitterly, “but his Majesty the Czar will have satisfaction. You cannot spirit away my niece without accounting for it.”
“You speak wildly,” replied Zénaïde, haughtily; “from your own statement, I understand that your niece has gone, and you are searching for her, but I see no reason for the accusation that I took her from your house. It is absurd!”
“You may not have taken her from my house, but you certainly sent her from yours,” madame replied quickly.
“That is your conclusion, madame,” Zénaïde said calmly; “and if you are quite done with your search, I will bid you good-morning, for I find myself in sore need of repose.”
“Do not allow me to disturb you,” Madame Zotof retorted with mock courtesy; “my husband and I will withdraw instantly, and report to the czar that you have found means to despatch Najine to some unknown spot.”