“And now, madame,” she said quietly, “I am at your service.”
“I come on the old quest, Madame de Brousson,” she replied haughtily; “where is my niece?”
Zénaïde smiled. “Not here certainly,” she returned, with a glance at the vacant room.
“That is the old story,” Madame Zotof exclaimed with impatience. “She is never here; yet I know that she went with you to Mentchikof’s house, and there made herself notorious by an appeal to the czar in the behalf of M. de Lambert. It is time that she came to me and behaved as becomes a modest maiden.”
“Mademoiselle is incapable of any but modest and maidenly behavior,” Zénaïde replied with spirit; “you are scarcely just to her.”
Madame Zotof laughed scornfully. “I have the longer acquaintance, madame,” she said, “but I ask you with all courtesy to inform my niece that I await her pleasure, and it will be well to add that the czar desires that she shall return to her guardians.”
Zénaïde cast a quick glance at me of mingled amusement and dismay.
“Frankly, Madame Zotof,” she rejoined, “I cannot deliver your message, for mademoiselle is not here. She did indeed accompany me to Mentchikof’s house, but she is no longer with us.”
“However, you know where she is, madame,” Madame Zotof exclaimed with impatience; “it is useless to deny it.”
“At this moment I really do not know where she is,” Zénaïde replied calmly, determined to delay the other woman’s discovery of the secret as long as possible; but a sudden inspiration came to Madame Zotof, and she turned sharply upon my wife.