“It is a delicate matter, M. le Maréchal,” Mentchikof remarked thoughtfully. “The czar has undoubtedly imprisoned M. de Lambert. He probably ordered his arrest in one of those moments of ungovernable passion when he takes little account of what he does, but, having taken this rash action, it is difficult for him to recede from it.”
“That is true, monsieur,” I replied gravely; “but such action involves an offence to France, and that is a point that his Majesty will do well to consider.”
Mentchikof, who was, before all else, a Russian, resented my tone at once.
“You know very well, M. de Brousson,” he said haughtily, “that the czar my master is too proud and passionate a man to count the costs, even if Russia had cause to fear.”
I did not desire to offend him, and let his reply pass unnoticed.
“His Majesty should however consider the injustice, M. Mentchikof,” I said courteously. “M. de Lambert is an innocent man, and as a foreigner has a claim upon your forbearance.”
“I recognize the justice of what you say, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he replied calmly; “but the czar is human, and M. de Lambert has offended him. Perhaps, you or I in like case would be even less merciful.”
I smiled. “That may be, monsieur,” I said, “but you or I would seek redress with our swords. Prison walls are safe, but it seems a poor revenge.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “A safe one, M. de Brousson,” he replied coolly; “a sword-thrust and six feet of earth are cold satisfaction for a man in love.”
“That is true,” I said, smiling; “but prison walls are equally hard for M. de Lambert, therefore I crave your assistance to liberate him. I had thought of taking Apraxin to the czar and demanding my friend’s release from the custody into which Apraxin has betrayed him.”