She stood there twisting the pearls about her throat until I saw them press into the delicate flesh, and her lips were compressed. It was a moment before she spoke.
“I have been told,” she said in a low voice, “that some stars never reach the greatest heights, but are content to shine in semi-obscurity.”
“That may be true, mademoiselle,” I replied; “but when a star is radiant it must rise, unless some brighter planet outshines it.”
She looked at me keenly, and I returned her regard with a placid smile.
“Your friend M. de Lambert,” she said, “is, I hear, also an observer of the stars.”
“I commend him to your friendship, mademoiselle,” I said quietly; “it may be that he will have need of it. A brave soldier, but a hot-head.”
“We must find him a Russian bride, monsieur,” she said at once, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Mentchikof and all the members of this household will aid you. I feel myself a lively interest in M. de Lambert’s happiness.”
“He is fortunate, mademoiselle,” I replied, “in having such champions, but there is only one way to remove all rivals from his path. Mademoiselle Shavronsky herself must interpose.”
She twisted the chain of pearls so tight that the necklace broke, and they fell scattered on the floor. I stooped to gather the fragments, but she received them with disdain.
“A trifle,” she said, placing her foot upon them. “What are pearls when I have not my heart’s desire?”