“His wife!” screamed madame, furiously. “I do not believe it; it is false!”
Zénaïde made her a curtsy. “I thank you, madame,” she said mockingly; “your courtesy to me passes all reason. You intrude upon me at most unseemly hours; you search my house; you insult my hospitality, and now accuse me of falsehood! I am overwhelmed with your kindness.”
Zotof turned to me. I think, for the moment, he was too astonished to resent my share in the affair as intensely as did his wife.
“My niece wedded to M. de Lambert!” he exclaimed; “where, and at what hour?”
“In the Cathedral of the Assumption, monsieur,” I replied courteously, “past midnight, and in my presence, so that I can bear witness to the ceremony.”
He crimsoned with rage. “This passes my endurance, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he exclaimed furiously. “It shall be immediately reported to the czar. My niece shall be brought back to Moscow, and M. de Lambert shall answer for this! You presume too far upon the forbearance of the Russians. We have endured much, but this exceeds all. My niece will find that this marriage avails nothing.”
I looked from one to the other with unruffled composure, finding it difficult to suppress a smile when I saw madame’s furious face.
“Come, monsieur and madame,” I said persuasively, “we were all younger once, and we all know that love plays strange tricks. Would it not be better to forget and forgive? The deed is done; M. de Lambert and Najine are man and wife in the eyes of the church, and it is not for you or me to bind or loose those whom the church has united. They are on their way to Versailles—see! the day has dawned—the sun has risen on their married life; of what avail is violence? If you drag them back to Moscow and excite the czar against M. de Lambert, it will indeed bring wretchedness, but what else? I know mademoiselle—I beg her pardon—Madame de Lambert, and neither prison nor death will prevail against her loyal and devoted spirit—and she is his wife!”
I think that my words had some effect upon M. Zotof, for he heard me to the end, but to madame they were sown upon the wind. Before I had finished she had her spouse by the arm and was drawing him toward the door; but she stopped long enough to fling another bitter reproach at me, and never looked more perfectly the shrew than at that moment.
“It is well for you to use fine words now, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she exclaimed, “when you have so far succeeded; but the time will come when you will regret this interference—the czar shall know the truth.”