“Learn the deference that is due your superiors,” I said sharply, and, signing to Lenk to follow me, I hurried him out of reach of the crowd.
“What folly is this?” I asked, as soon as we were out of sight; “have you not learned wisdom enough to avoid street brawls?”
“The fellow was tipsy, M. le Vicomte,” the Swede replied ruefully, “and set upon me about some trifle, but I am again indebted to you, for if I had fallen into the hands of the guard, nothing would have saved my neck.”
“Your neck!” I remarked dryly; “you would have tasted the joys of the torture-rooms at Preobrazhensky, and after this you are not safe here another day. That knave let you go because he dared not gainsay me, but I saw the ire in his eyes and he will be revenged, and the drunken hound you whipped will be also, and how can you conceal your nationality?”
“I was about to leave the city, in any case,” he said thoughtfully, “and I must leave sooner than I intended, for, as your Excellency says, there will be no safety for me in Moscow.”
“I cannot understand,” I said with impatience, “how a man like you can be so easily betrayed into folly. A street brawl, and you a secret agent of Charles of Sweden! I cannot do much for you, it is not consistent with my honor, but I owe you much for M. de Lambert’s sake; therefore come to my lodgings, hide there until nightfall, and then leave Moscow. This much I will do, and no more.”
“It is enough, M. de Brousson,” he replied quietly, “and I thank you. You have been twice the means of saving my life, and I believe that you know I do not forget.”
I glanced at his face thoughtfully. “Lenk,” I said gravely and kindly, “you are of too honest stuff for your profession,—you a Swedish spy! There is no profession more contemptible. Is there no higher service in the gift of Charles of Sweden for an honest man?”
The spy’s face flushed crimson, and his lips quivered.
“M. le Vicomte,” he said slowly, in a tone of deep emotion, “to you I owe much, and from you I forgive the taunt, though it is bitter. I am a ruined man, and I have an aged mother;—the fortunes of our family were destroyed by the malice and deviltry of an enemy, and I was without means to keep my mother from want. The king offered money—a large sum, enough to keep her gray hairs from destitution—for this service here. M. de Brousson, poverty is cruel; a man who is penniless is blasted in the world’s regard; he is without the weapons to fight the battle of life; he must needs fawn upon the hand of power; he must eat the bread of humiliation; he must bear insults, curiosity, misrepresentation, and all the world’s contumely. His shabby dress brings him scorn; his empty purse denies him bread; his broken spirit falls far below the effort that commands success. Such was I—and I sold my honorable employment—I laid down a soldier’s sword and took up a spy’s mask—to feed my mother!”