“I crave your Majesty’s indulgence,” I said, “but I have been out the greater part of the morning, and the weather is intolerable.”
“You are a Frenchman, M. l’Ambassadeur,” Peter replied, “and you are too dainty for the storms of the north. However, you have been active, it seems, or else I am grossly misinformed. I sent to your lodgings for M. de Lambert, and learn that you have hurried him from Moscow; is this true?”
“Your Majesty was urgent about his departure,” I replied calmly, “and it was incumbent upon me to comply; therefore I sent him to Versailles at once.”
The czar was leaning his face upon his hand so that it was shaded from my observation, and I could not read his expression.
“This sounds well, M. le Vicomte,” he said gravely; “but, after all, were you not endeavoring rather to defy me than to obey my wishes? And where is Najine?”
Was it possible that the Zotofs had not applied to him for assistance? I began to feel my way cautiously.
“At this moment, your Majesty, I do not know where she is,” I replied.
He laughed unpleasantly.
“Words, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he said, still shading his face. “Not many hours since Madame Zotof came to me for help to recover her runaway niece, and you claim—I assume—to know nothing of this?”
“Nay, your Majesty,” I returned boldly, “that I do not claim. Mademoiselle Zotof had no great reason to love her aunt, and—”