He laughed bitterly. “Fools rush upon their fate, M. le Maréchal,” he rejoined; “each man thinks that he is born to scale the dizzy heights of fame. The greater the fool, the more eager he is for the attempt. Unhappily, they find their error out too late, and run headlong to their ruin.”
“I have often considered whether it was worth while or not,” I remarked quietly, “the glitter of a court dazzles, but its honors are hollow.”
Mentchikof smiled. “It is easy to philosophize in the hour of good fortune, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he replied dryly, “but in the day of evil it is difficult to apply it. We who have tasted the sweets of power find the loss a bitter one. However, sometimes our friends desert too soon, and Fortune changes when it is least expected.”
“It will be so with you, monsieur,” I said with conviction; “meanwhile I find myself also in embarrassment. This morning I received this communication from the czar.”
He held out his hand for the papers with an expression of curiosity; he was far from suspecting their contents, for, after glancing over the documents, he looked at me in open astonishment, smiling a little at the gravity of my face.
“When a man is a king, it is easy to dispose of rivals, monsieur,” he remarked quietly; “it makes the less fortunate envious.”
I laughed. “The case is peculiar, however,” I replied, “for M. de Lambert is a young hot-head and ill to guide; it will be difficult to send him away. I have had some hope that this order might be reversed or, at least, a delay permitted.”
“It might have been,” Mentchikof replied thoughtfully; “but, unhappily, Mademoiselle Shavronsky’s folly has made it impossible for me to arrange it. His Majesty would be instantly suspicious of any interference on my part. I fear, M. le Maréchal, that the young man must go.”
I did not reply at once, and he folded the papers gravely and returned them to me; as he did so, he glanced at me keenly and smiled.
“Where is Mademoiselle Zotof?” he asked abruptly.