“Not so, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she said with spirit. “I owe you the more thanks, since no queen could be more happy than the wife of a brave and loyal man.”
M. de Lambert bent his head gracefully and kissed her hand. “I am more fortunate than an emperor,” he replied.
“You are both more fortunate,” Madame de Brousson said quietly; “a loyal heart is richer than a crown, and you are happier in each other than either emperors or kings.”
Meanwhile the priest who had performed the ceremony was eager to be rid of us, and, knowing the perils of delay, I too became impatient, and urged upon M. de Lambert the necessity of immediate departure. We had previously decided upon the road that they should travel, and I sent Touchet to Mentchikof with a verbal message that would inform him that the deed was done, and nothing now remained but to get the pair off as speedily as might be. Events had crowded upon each other, but it was now near dawn, and it was necessary for them to leave Moscow while the darkness remained. Mentchikof had furnished me with a pass that would open the gates for them, and I had previously arranged a change of horses for M. de Lambert, anticipating the necessity of his departure, whether he married mademoiselle or not. The priest hurried us out of the cathedral, and Zénaïde and I rode with them a little way to a spot where we could leave the carriage and go to our quarters with Pierrot, while Touchet was to overtake them with the woman, Neonila, and attend them on their hurried journey to France. Najine parted from my wife with tears, for, after all, she had been sorely tried, and was young and estranged from her kindred, and about to go to a strange land to begin a new life far from family and friends; yet so great and so trusting is the love of woman that it will endure all things and believe all things for him who has won it. It touched both Zénaïde and me to observe M. de Lambert’s tender appreciation of her fears and her regrets, for he had that fine gentleness that belongs to the greatest courage,—the tenderness that is a part of a noble spirit. When my wife bade Najine adieu, she turned to him with grave admonition.
“Be considerate of her, monsieur,” she said warmly, “for she is leaving her guardians, her country, her friends, for your sake alone—and there is no richer gift than a good woman’s heart.”
M. de Lambert took my wife’s hands in his, and pressed them to his lips.
“Madame,” he replied, with a thrill of strong emotion in his voice, “I love you for your own goodness and, most of all, for your love for Najine. Fear not that I shall fail in appreciation, for, madame, I value her love above all the riches of this world, as the one gift without price.”
With these words we parted from them and stood watching the carriage as it rolled away with Najine’s fair face outlined dimly in the darkness. They went off together into the night upon a perilous and uncertain journey, but as happy in their confidence as the most fortunate of married pairs; and my wife and I watched and listened, and then we looked up and saw the clouds drifting away and the stars shining. It seemed a happy omen.
CHAPTER XXVI.
MADAME ZOTOF.
Madame de Brousson and I walked slowly toward our quarters, attended by Pierrot. As we approached the house, I heard Zénaïde laugh softly.