“M. de Lambert was not seriously injured, your Majesty,” I replied quietly, “and I did not desire to accuse a member of a family near your person.”
“Speak plainly, M. de Brousson,” Peter exclaimed; “who was the man?”
I knew that I was treading on delicate ground, but I delivered my blow calmly. “It was Yury Apraxin, the protégé of M. Zotof,” I said with deliberation.
The czar flushed a deep red, and for an instant his eyes shot fire. He recalled the scene at Mentchikof’s house, and for a moment, I believe, thought that I intended to insult him; then he controlled his passion and leaned towards me, clenching the arms of his chair with a grip that made the cords stand out upon his hands.
“What quarrel had he with M. de Lambert?” he asked in a low voice, but with an emphasis that was ominous.
I had assumed an air of innocence and candor. I looked straight back into his passionate eyes, which were like those of the untamed king of beasts.
“M. de Lambert has deeply admired M. Zotof’s beautiful niece, doing homage to her beauty and purity, as we all do, your Majesty,” I replied easily; “and M. Apraxin, having been betrothed to mademoiselle, resented M. de Lambert’s admiration for his fiancée.”
The czar’s brow grew like a thunder-cloud; he knew nothing of Apraxin’s early betrothal, and I began to enjoy the situation keenly. He uttered a fierce exclamation, and I saw his lips twitch.
“Najine Zotof betrothed!” he said under his breath, and then added: “Upon my soul, M. l’Ambassadeur, I thank you for your tidings. It seems that my own people do not often speak truth to me. Apraxin—the marplot boy! Did your friend run him through for his pains?”
“No, your Majesty,” I replied quietly; “my man ran to M. de Lambert’s aid, and Apraxin fled like a caitiff.”