“I was a young man, M. de Lambert,” I said lightly, “and my rival was not a Romanoff.”
He flung out his hands with a gesture of impatience. “It does not matter, M. le Maréchal,” he exclaimed passionately. “I will not surrender without a fight.”
“And mademoiselle?” I asked after a moment. “Have you any assurance that she looks favorably upon your suit?”
He chafed a little under my inquiry, and his color rose.
“I believe that I am not indifferent to her, monsieur,” he answered proudly.
“Then it is quite another matter,” I said gravely, “but how do you propose to thwart the czar?”
He knit his brows, and I saw him gnawing his lip. He was violently angry, and my composure fretted him. He writhed under my interrogations, as I have seen a high-spirited horse restive under the whip.
“That is a hard question, M. le Vicomte,” he said angrily; “emperors and kings take an unfair advantage against honest men. But I am determined that no man shall blast the future of mademoiselle.”
He was walking to and fro across the room, his face working with contending emotions. I read his thoughts easily.
“You take a curious view of it, monsieur,” I remarked; “mademoiselle could hardly desire a more brilliant future than to be Czarina of Russia.”