I felt the warmest sympathy for him. His manner convinced me of the sincerity of his passion. I put my hand on his shoulder as I would have laid it on a son’s.
“I will be frank, monsieur,” I said, carried out of all resolution of reserve. “I have been assured to-day of two things,—the czar has a serious fancy for mademoiselle, and Mentchikof is determined to induce him to transfer it to Catherine Shavronsky.”
“May the saints speed his efforts!” exclaimed M. de Lambert, devoutly.
“In either case,” I went on, “mademoiselle is in danger. If the czar loves her, you cannot hope to oppose him; and if he vacillates between mademoiselle and the Shavronsky woman, Mentchikof and his faction will find a way to deal with Najine Zotof, as other court factions have dealt with rival candidates for the czar’s heart. Poison, exile, death—the course is easy; and if they fail the czar will win, and you, M. de Lambert—must lose.”
He heard me calmly to the end; then, throwing back his head, he looked me in the eye, and I saw the fire kindling in his own.
“Monsieur,” he said, “no tyrant shall crush the spirit and happiness of the woman I love, were he a thousand times a czar! If she loves me, I will win her yet!”
CHAPTER III.
AUNT AND NIECE.
M. de Lambert had at least one friend whose sympathy was unfailing. Madame de Brousson took the warmest interest in his trials, encouraging him in his rash suit, and even chiding me because I endeavored to point out all the perils and difficulties. “If you had been thus cautious twenty-one years ago, Philippe,” she said to me, “I should not now be your wife.” Which was like a woman, for women love to apply the same rule to all cases. She understood, as well as I did, all the obstacles, but chose to throw the weight of her influence in the scale with love and knight-errantry. Between the two, Zénaïde and M. de Lambert, I was sore beset. The possibility that Peter might demand our young lover’s return to France was imminent, and in any case I could not discover a way for him to defeat successfully his imperial rival. In spite of Zénaïde’s indignant protest, I had grave doubts that mademoiselle would remain loyal to her French suitor in the face of the czar’s wooing. I had been working industriously to ascertain something of the drift of affairs, and found that an impression existed at court that Peter intended to choose a second wife. He had confirmed this by his own words, spoken in his indignation at the discovery of the infidelity of Anna Mons. In the heat of his passion he told her lover, the Prussian minister Kayserling, that he had educated the girl to marry her himself. If he had contemplated wedding Anna Mons, it was far more probable that he would wed mademoiselle. A passing fancy might end in a futile intrigue; but if the czar was indeed seriously considering the idea of marrying her, she was exposed to the machinations of the rival parties at court, and especially to those of Mentchikof. He was now the favorite, and the center of a web of intrigue. His household was conducted by his sister, Madame Golovin, the wife of Count Alexis Golovin; and with her resided the two Arsenief sisters, one of whom, Daria, was said to be beloved by Mentchikof,—they had both been “boyar maidens,” as the maids of honor were named. To this group had recently been added Catherine Shavronsky, whom Mentchikof was introducing as a candidate for the czar’s affection. He doubtless desired to establish her in the place of Anna Mons, and through the new toy to rule the court factions. If, on the other hand, Peter’s fancy for Najine Zotof interfered with this scheme, Mentchikof would leave no stone unturned in the effort to defeat and ruin the young girl whose beauty had been so unfortunate as to attract the imperial notice.
Such was the situation, and Madame de Brousson and M. de Lambert understood it as fully as I did; but I saw that it was only acting as a spur to his headstrong temperament. I spoke to Pierrot, and warned him to aid Touchet in attending the young man, as I anticipated no little trouble for him, knowing only too well that a sword-thrust or a pistol-shot in the dark was not a singular occurrence in Moscow. My wife did not permit my sympathy to cool, and we were both becoming keenly interested in the little drama. Only one point disturbed my appreciation of the romance, and that in spite of Madame de Brousson’s protests: I had yet to feel assured of mademoiselle’s feelings. M. de Lambert was loud in his denunciation of the Councillor Zotof and his wife; they of course had grown cold to his suit at the first advent of the czar, and now he accused them of endeavoring to coerce their niece. Zénaïde continually urged me to go and see mademoiselle, and so be convinced that she possessed a sweet and candid disposition; and this would also give me an opportunity to observe the manner of her guardians. My wife had no desire to go herself, because she detested Madame Zotof, who was counted one of the greatest shrews in Moscow. Moved partly by sympathy for M. de Lambert, and partly by a desire to become better acquainted with the heroine of the romance, I yielded to the domestic pressure and found an opportunity to visit the councillor’s residence.
Zotof’s house stood within a spacious courtyard, and was a solid, comfortable-looking building. The main door opened into a great hall, usually full of serfs and retainers, while the living rooms were all above,—a common fashion in Russia. It was towards evening when I arrived, attended by Touchet; and a serf bearing a taper lighted me up the stairs, ushering me into a spacious apartment furnished with Russian luxuriousness in furs and heavy hangings. The councillor was entertaining several friends, and his wife and niece were both present. He received me courteously, but I fancied that I was less welcome than formerly, and noticed his glance behind me at the door as if he expected to see M. de Lambert enter also. Zotof was a short, stout man, belonging to the old coterie, and a fair type of the conservative nobility, having, I had no doubt, a wholesome abhorrence of the czar’s innovations. Peter, who was fond of nick-naming the older men, called him the “Prince Pope,” because he had assumed that character at a masquerade. Zotof’s face, which was coarse and flushed with high living, was not brutal, and I could imagine that he found his position full of embarrassment. He had encouraged M. de Lambert until he saw that his niece might hope for a crown, and now found it difficult to extricate himself from his entanglement. Madame, on the other hand, was the picture of a domestic tyrant,—a woman of medium stature, but carrying herself with an erectness which increased her appearance of height, her face pale and sharp-featured, her eyes keen and unsympathetic, and her whole manner sharp and sometimes rude, while not even her smile concealed her shrewish temper. I had long since made up my mind about the pair, and was more or less amused at their different attitudes in regard to me. In former days madame had been gracious to the border of flattery in her address; she had welcomed me as the representative of the king and a marshal of France, and M. de Lambert, as my friend, was an honored guest; but now her ambition had caught a glimpse of more splendid possibilities, she had a higher goal in view, and was untroubled by her husband’s scruples about previous engagements and obligations. She allowed me to see at once that while she still respected my rank, she no longer desired my good offices and was independent of my approval of her niece. I saw all this at a glance, even while I was accepting their hospitality and exchanging courtesies with their guests, and I found an opportunity to observe the young girl who was the cause of all the intrigues and of so much anxiety. Mademoiselle Zotof had remained modestly in the background, but I saw that she was watching the little scene with keen attention. I did not marvel at M. de Lambert’s infatuation, for her face was peculiarly charming and vivacious. She had that clear white complexion which is occasionally seen with intensely black hair, and her straight black brows were strongly marked above dark blue eyes, her mouth having tender curves that were contradicted by the firmness of her chin. She was not tall, and was delicately formed, but she had the dignity of a young princess. My wife declared that the Russian women had singular ideas about the European fashions, and wore the tawdry clothes that might disgrace even poor stage-players; but mademoiselle had certainly evaded these eccentricities, for her robe was of simple white, edged with ermine and girdled at the waist with a heavy silver cord, and it dignified her girlish beauty without encumbering it with too superb a setting. As I looked at the young face with its charm and animation, I became not a little curious about her. She seemed to me to be the very woman to grasp at an ambitious dream. Whatever she felt, she could hide it well behind that inscrutable little smile, and she roused all my interest.