As I spoke, there was some confusion at the further end of the room, and the czar glancing in that direction, his reply to me was stayed upon his lip. I turned with an intuition of the cause, and saw the crowd part, leaving a wide aisle down the center of the long salon, and through this walked Madame de Brousson and Mademoiselle Zotof. My wife, who was yet a beautiful woman, moved along with easy dignity, her fine figure and rich dark robes making her a sharp contrast to Najine, so slender in her pure white garment, untrimmed save for the sable that edged it as it fell about her feet, and the sable about her shoulders making her white neck look yet more white. Her face was pale, but her eyes darkly blue and fearless in expression. Her whole appearance and manner were extremely maidenly, and yet she advanced without embarrassment. As she approached, Peter rose, and the nobles about him drew back a little, so that he stood quite alone and faced mademoiselle, a strange expression on his face. That he was astonished was manifest enough, but he was also strongly moved and looked at her without a word. Zénaïde paused beside me, and whispered that they had just received evil tidings, that M. de Lambert’s life had been attempted, and that he was in great peril. Troubled as I was at the information, I almost forgot it in my eagerness to watch mademoiselle and the czar. She addressed him in the quaint Russian fashion.
“I come to you, little father, as a suppliant,” she said in a low voice, but in the silence it was audible to all; “I have a suit which is too pressing to brook delay, and I crave indulgence.”
“I am fortunate to see you, Najine,” the czar replied slowly. “Of late, not even your uncle could find you.”
Her pale cheeks flushed, but she looked up bravely. “Your Majesty must pardon my faults,” she said earnestly; “so sure am I of your goodness—of your kingly generosity, that I have come to ask a favor at your Majesty’s hands.”
Whether he suspected her motive or not, I could not tell, but he looked at her keenly.
“What is this favor?” he asked gravely; “have I been a hard master to you that you fear to ask it?”
“No, sire,” she said gently, her eyes fixed earnestly upon his face; “but when a boon is near the heart, it is difficult to ask. I beg a man’s liberty—his life, for they tell me it is in danger.”
“A man’s life and liberty?” the czar repeated sternly; “you choose a strange time, Najine Alexeievna; and is there no one else who can plead for it to me?”
The color swept up to her hair, and she suddenly kneeled at his feet.
“No one can plead as I can, little father,” she said almost inaudibly, “because to no one else is his life so dear.”