Zotof’s guests had been enjoying an informal talk before my arrival, but at my entrance there was a certain constraint in the conviviality, although the liquor still flowed with Russian freedom, and we stood about the table conversing in formal tones while madame kept mademoiselle beside her in the background. I was determined to obtain a nearer view of the latter, and after a little manœuvring managed to make my way to madame’s side.
“I see you but seldom at court now, madame,” I said, making a direct effort to sound her feeling, and I saw her quick glance at my face.
“I have always lived a retired life,” she replied calmly; “but now my husband desires me to appear upon all state occasions, and I shall make an effort to obey. I have heard with regret, monsieur,” she added, “that you are so soon to return to France.”
It was my turn to glance at her in astonishment, for I thought for a moment that she knew of some move of the czar’s; but the expression of her face satisfied me that it was a haphazard shot and that the wish was father to the thought.
“Madame is misinformed,” I said; “I have been delayed, and do not now expect to leave as soon as I supposed.”
I saw her disappointment, and could scarcely restrain a smile.
“I am so fortunate,” I continued gallantly, “as to be permitted to enjoy the society of my kind friends here for a yet longer period.”
“And Madame de Brousson remains also?” she asked a trifle tartly, for she had doubtless detected my observation of her niece and knew the cause. “Your wife is a Russian, I believe, M. le Vicomte?” she added.
This was my opportunity, and as soon as she gave it, she regretted it and stood biting her lip.
“Yes, madame,” I returned, glancing at mademoiselle, “my wife was a lovely Russian girl about the age of your fair niece when I won her. She preferred the heart and sword of her French lover to the rank and fortune of one of the imperial family, and I am happy in the assurance that she has never regretted her choice.”