“You have a brave spirit, mademoiselle,” I said quietly; “it was a long and lonely journey, and you had no escort but your woman.”
She looked at me and smiled. “I am a soldier’s daughter,” she replied proudly; “I have never known what it was to be afraid.”
“Bien, mademoiselle,” I replied; “and soon, if all goes well, you will be a soldier’s wife.”
She blushed prettily, and laughed. “I must endeavor to be brave enough, M. le Maréchal, to be worthy to be the wife of a soldier of France,” she said sweetly.
I made her an obeisance. “France is honored, mademoiselle,” I said, smiling; “but truly, I know no braver man than this same Guillaume de Lambert, and the only fault I find in him is that of young blood, too great an impetuosity.”
“I remember the day, Najine,” laughed Zénaïde, “when Philippe de Brousson was as headstrong as any boy that he can name, and so impetuous that there is many a long chapter of the accidents which befell him. He has grown grave now, and preaches to the young upon the faults in which he himself excelled. Take heart, mademoiselle, M. de Lambert will yet emerge triumphant.”
“I do not doubt it,” Najine replied with spirit; “a brave man deserves success.”
I smiled at their confidence. The Kremlin was a grim place, and M. de Lambert was behind strong bars and in the power of a man whose resolution was iron, and whose natural generosity was frequently obscured by those bursts of passion which swept all before them. However, it would have been not only useless but ill-advised to intrude my doubts upon Najine’s sanguine mood, and I remained silent. Indeed, I had ample food for reflection, for I found the situation becoming hourly more complicated. I had believed that she was safe with her aunt and that I was free of that responsibility, but she had returned upon my hands, in time, it was true, to aid me, but also at the moment when her presence under my roof would be the keenest embarrassment. Yet where to send her I knew not, and she appeared to be unconscious of the difficulty that her arrival created. I slept but little, and rose with the first peep of dawn, determined to accomplish something on that day, if it was within human possibility. In spite of her fatiguing journey, mademoiselle was up nearly as early, and she and her woman were ready to attend me at the appointed hour. Taking both Pierrot and Touchet, we proceeded at once. The spot appointed for the meeting was a narrow lane behind the palace of Mentchikof, flanked on one side by the blank wall of the kitchen wing, and on the other by the low wall of a courtyard belonging to a deserted building. This court opened upon the lane by a postern, which was never closed because of the rusted and broken hinges; and it was behind this door that I intended to conceal my party, while mademoiselle and her woman were to come apparently from the side entrance of Mentchikof’s house, thus disarming the suspicion of her cousin, who would probably enter the lane from the north. The signal appointed for his approach, two low whistles, was to summon Najine from her hiding-place behind the buttress of Mentchikof’s palace, while I could approach unseen when Apraxin became engaged in conversation with her. It was a trap, and it was a question whether he would be fool enough to enter it or not. Mademoiselle, who knew him well, was confident of success, but I was less sanguine. On reaching our destination, we were met by the Swede with the report that his part of the compact had been successfully executed, and nothing remained but to take our places and wait for the development of the plot. It had been arranged that Najine should engage him in conversation and draw from him, if possible, a confession of his part in the arrest of M. de Lambert.
It was a raw morning, and the sky was dark with heavy clouds; now and then a few flakes of snow fell, and then a keen gust of wind blew them away. We stood shivering under our heavy cloaks in our place of concealment. I was nearest the postern, and from my position commanded the spot where mademoiselle and Neonila waited. It seemed a long time before there was any indication of the approach of our victim, and I began to think that he had been keen enough to suspect a trap and to avoid it. But at last there was a low whistle, followed by another, and Pierrot, climbing up, looked over the wall; by getting his eyes above the level of the top he could see the north end of the lane, from which, as we had expected, the signal came.
“Is it he?” I asked in an undertone.