“Have you not heard, then?” he asked; “it is whispered about already.”
“I did not know that there was any talk about Mademoiselle Zotof,” I said; “she lives in comparative retirement. The new suitor is of importance?”
He looked at me with a certain exasperation in his face.
“It is the czar,” he said.
I set down my glass, which had been half-way to my lips. I was conscious of staring at him with amazement; my mind was really grasping the situation in terrible detail. Here was a new complication for me. I knew M. de Lambert, and was fully aware that not even an imperial rival would daunt his courage, that opposition would only add fuel to the flame. On the other hand, I knew the czar and the Councillor Zotof, and I saw a tremendous climax. For my life I could not forbear laughing. It was so perfectly in harmony with my usual fortune. M. de Lambert regarded me with a frown.
“I am glad that you find it amusing, M. le Vicomte,” he said, his temper showing itself.
“I beg your pardon, monsieur,” I said at once, “I do not find your situation amusing, only my own. Frankly, my friend,” I added gravely, “I advise you to resign your pretensions to mademoiselle’s hand. It is impossible to meet a royal suitor on equal terms. You remember the fate of M. de Bassompierre and the Prince de Condé in the old days, and we might point a nearer example. Your position is already difficult. A subject of the King of France and my secretary, you cannot offend the czar. Mademoiselle Zotof is lovely, but there are many beautiful maidens in our own country.”
M. de Lambert had risen from his chair and was pacing the room. From my heart I sympathized with his impotent anger.
“Monsieur,” he said, pausing in front of me, “I have heard of your romantic wooing. Did you apply the same argument to your own case?”
He had caught me fairly, and I smiled.