“Appeal to the moon!” I replied with impatience. “Catherine cares not for him. Her head is full of fancies, and she must needs put them on paper like a woman!”
“Now you are out of humor, M. le Maréchal,” Zénaïde said calmly; “you are never discourteous except when you lose your temper. Then women must bear the blame for all the errors of the world.”
I took her hand and kissed it, for I saw the flash in her blue eyes. “If women were all like you, madame,” I said gallantly, “the world would be fortunate indeed.”
“I thank you, monsieur,” she replied, answering me with my own manner; “the woman does not live who is not more patient than man.”
But our little comedy was ended by Pierrot, who appeared suddenly at the door with a perturbed countenance.
“A message from the Kremlin, monsieur,” he said in a strange voice.
I glanced at him, surprised. “A message from whom?” I asked.
“It is the czar’s equerry,” he replied.
Zénaïde had risen and stood with her hand upon my shoulder, and I felt her fingers tighten their hold a trifle.
“Let him come here,” I said, and Pierrot departed on his errand.