Mademoiselle’s face was crimson, whether from embarrassment at her aunt’s rudeness or at the cut at her lover, I could not divine; but I saw that madame was unwittingly playing into my hands.
“What young Frenchman has been so unfortunate as to meet with madame’s disapproval?” I inquired with assumed anxiety. “There are so few French in Moscow; I trust it is not my own friend, M. de Lambert.”
Madame frowned; she had not anticipated my candor.
“My observation was general and not personal, monsieur,” she replied shortly.
“You relieve my mind of much uneasiness, madame,” I said with feigned earnestness. “I know there is unjust prejudice against my countrymen here, and I should be sorry to have you misjudge M. de Lambert, one of the most gallant and true young soldiers of France. It would interest you, mademoiselle,” I added, turning pleasantly to Najine, who had not yet recovered from her embarrassment, “to hear of his conduct upon the field of Friedlingen. His Majesty the King of France has been pleased to acknowledge personally the conspicuous gallantry of this young fellow.”
And I proceeded to tell her with picturesque detail some stories of M. de Lambert’s courage, and had the pleasure of seeing her eyes kindle with excitement, while madame stood by fuming and tapping the floor with her foot, no doubt wishing me back in my native land. I could not repress a malicious amusement at her expense, she was so little adroit in handling the weapons of intrigue and so honestly ill-tempered. Her niece, on the other hand, changed visibly, her face flushing and her manner relaxing as she listened to my eulogium, and I knew well how to touch upon those points of courage and devotion that hold the admiration of a young girl. Mademoiselle was convent-bred, and to her mind men were either the bold villains of the ballads or knights of the cross, and she probably comprehended her flesh-and-blood lover as little as she understood the world. It seems to me that there is nothing so sublimely ignorant of life, as it is, as a young girl just looking out from the seclusion of her home; and it occurred to me, as I watched the innocent candor of her emotion, that her marriage to the czar would be a sacrifice for the saints to weep over. Innocence and purity, youth and beauty, how sad the immolation! I thought of my own daughter, and was drawn towards the maiden. Perhaps it was the father in my tones that won her confidence, for she looked at me with growing kindness in her glance, asking more than one question about my country and my home. On one point I was reassured: she was not at all afraid of Madame Zotof. I saw that. She was even a little amused at the older woman’s anger, and I perceived too that she had plenty of spirit, and was not likely to yield herself an easy victim to any of their intrigues; indeed, there was decision in her manner, and she had a proud way of holding her head that rejoiced my heart.
While I was still talking to mademoiselle, I heard madame utter an exclamation, and, following her angry eyes, saw M. de Lambert entering the room. He had never looked so handsome, and he carried himself haughtily as he advanced towards M. Zotof. Madame made a swift movement to intercept his approach to her niece; but I was too quick for her, and stood directly in her path, suave and smiling, ready to converse with her; and she hesitated, her face red and her sharp eyes trying to look over my shoulder at M. de Lambert, who was bending low over mademoiselle’s hand. Madame and I looked at each other in mutual defiance, and I stood my ground.
“I have always desired to ask you, madame,” I began, saying the first thing that came into my mind, “if you were personally acquainted with the Czarina Natalia? I had the honor to know her Majesty, and always desired to hear something of the last years of her life.”
“Monsieur had better ask one of the court functionaries,” she replied tartly. “I was living in the provinces, and knew little of her imperial Majesty. Have the kindness, M. le Vicomte, to permit me to speak to my niece.”
I stood aside with a profound bow. I had gained my point, and madame knew it, for M. de Lambert had had his opportunity, brief though it was. Madame Zotof swept up to Najine, and, laying a hand upon her arm, spoke a few words in her ear which were not difficult to interpret, for the young girl flushed hotly, and with a formal curtsy to M. de Lambert and to me withdrew, leaving her aunt triumphant and her lover furious. It required all my diplomacy to relieve the situation, for M. de Lambert had a quick temper, and the contempt that a noble nature feels for intrigue. I interposed between them, and, drawing her into conversation, gave him time to recover his equanimity, but was glad of the arrival of more guests, which furnished an excuse for our departure, for I felt that I could not trust the hot-headed gallant in madame’s hands. As mademoiselle had withdrawn, he was willing enough to depart with me, and I breathed more freely after we had made our formal exit and I had him once more in the street.