“I thank you,” he said with dignity, as he turned to rejoin the czar.
Peter had been observing us, and it was sometimes unpleasant to find his keen eye upon you; it must have been peculiarly uncomfortable for Mentchikof at a time when he was straining every nerve to thwart his master’s fancy for Mademoiselle Zotof.
It was near midnight when M. de Lambert and I left the Kremlin together. We were not in a talkative mood, and traversed the streets in silence, each wrapped in his own thoughts. Mine were anxious, and I fancied that his were gloomy, since there had been little to reassure him at court to-day. We had reached the door of our lodgings when a man stepped out of the shadow of the house and, approaching M. de Lambert, addressed him in Russ.
“A word with you, master,” he said.
My foot was already on the doorstep, but I stopped, feeling some alarm for my companion.
“You may speak here,” M. de Lambert said sharply.
The fellow hesitated. “I was directed to deliver my message to you alone,” he replied, drawing a small packet from under his cloak.
“I am alone,” M. Guillaume said.
“My mistress directed me to place this in your hands,” the man explained, giving him the packet and turning away.
“Hold!” exclaimed M. de Lambert, excitedly; “there is some answer?”