CHAPTER XX.
THE FAITHFUL SPY.
In asking for an officer to assist in my search for M. de Lambert, I had hoped to force the czar’s hand, and to obtain some direct information as to his intentions toward his captive, but I had failed in this, and the Russian was of no assistance to me; on the contrary, he became such a burden that after a few hours I signified my readiness to dispense with his services, and saw him depart with feelings of deep relief. He left me at the door of my own lodgings, and I went in to inquire for tidings, only to find that there were none, and that Pierrot had Tikhon still in custody. I was not willing to let him go until I had absolute proof of the truth of his information, and so left him to the tender mercies of my equerry. It was late, but I found Zénaïde waiting for me with an anxious face, having spent the night in watching, all her fears alarmed by M. de Lambert’s disappearance, for, though a brave woman, she was always sensitive to anxieties for my personal safety, and she understood only too well the intrigues of the court.
“Where have you been?” she asked as she helped me to lay aside my cloak and sword. “Have you any good tidings?”
“None,” I replied gloomily, “and I have seen the czar.”
“It is, then, as we feared,” she exclaimed; “he has been arrested?”
I inclined my head. “So Tikhon tells me, and I believe he speaks the truth. The czar was in an evil humor and determined to baffle me. It is a sorry affair, and if something does not occur to mend it inside of twenty-four hours, I must even send a messenger post-haste to Versailles.”
Zénaïde’s face grew grave, and she stood looking at the fire thoughtfully. “A sorry matter, indeed,” she said after a moment, “and it makes me shudder when I think of what may happen to M. de Lambert before we can do anything for him. Poor Najine!”
“I do not believe that the czar will attempt to harm him,” I replied; “the King of France is no weak foe, and I have endeavored to impress them here with the personal importance of Guillaume de Lambert.”
Zénaïde shook her head. “You do not know Russia yet, Philippe,” she said, “or you would not lay that unction to your soul. I thought that you understood better the passionate, impulsive nature of Peter Alexeivitch.”
“Ay, madame,” I said, “I know the Russian, but I know also that the name of Louis of France is a power, and Peter never forgets altogether, even in his love fever, his quarrel with Charles of Sweden. If he affronts the king my master, how can he foresee the result in Saxony? The German princes are only too anxious to partition Augustus’ patrimony, and with a new alliance what could not Charles XII accomplish? Poland would be lost, not only to Augustus, but to Peter, and with it the Neva. No, no, Madame de Brousson, the czar dare not openly insult Louis de Bourbon.”