“What can it be at this hour?” Zénaïde exclaimed, for it was late in the evening.
I could not answer her, for I was myself perplexed. In a moment Pierrot returned and announced the equerry, a young fellow whom I knew by sight.
“You are charged with a message to me?” I said, responding to his salutation.
“His imperial Majesty desires your immediate attendance, M. de Brousson,” he replied with an air of importance.
I rose at once. “The hour is late,” I said calmly, “but I will be with you in a few moments.”
Zénaïde followed me from the room with a startled face. “I do not like this summons,” she said, “or the hour. Is it necessary to obey, Philippe? Can you not evade it?”
I shook my head. “Impossible,” I replied; “moreover, I have nothing to fear. The gravest offence would be a refusal to obey. Take comfort, my wife; you are too brave a woman to be anxious over a trifle.”
In spite of my reassuring words, she accompanied me to the door with a grave face, and when I looked back I saw her graceful figure outlined against the light, like a picture framed by the doorway.
Pierrot attended me, and, escorted by the messenger, we walked directly to the Kremlin at a rapid pace. I had small leisure for reflection, but could not forbear some speculation upon the cause of this summons. No explanation offered itself, but the thought of the Swedish spy and Yury Apraxin, and I was therefore wholly unprepared for the humor in which I found the czar. The equerry conducted me to a private entrance of the palace, and the wicket was opened by one of the court dwarfs. We ascended a long narrow flight of stairs, and were admitted to Peter’s private apartments. Pierrot remaining at the entrance, I was ushered into a long gallery, which could be entered by two doors, one being at either end, and there I remained for some moments alone. The place was lighted by three lamps, swung by chains from the low vaulted ceiling, and the whole gallery was decorated in dark red and blue and gold. Two narrow windows looked out upon the domes of the Kremlin, shining in the moonlight; on the other side, through a golden lattice, I could see the tapers gleaming on an iconostase in one of the private chapels. The whole effect was one of Oriental color and splendor. It must have been a quarter of an hour before the door at the farther end was opened quickly and Peter entered unattended. The moment that I beheld him, I knew that there had been a paroxysm of rage and that he was suffering from its effects. His dress was disordered, his shirt thrown open at the throat, displaying his brawny neck; his face was deeply flushed, and he wore no peruke, his own dark hair hanging dishevelled on his temples, and his eyes were brilliant with anger. He came striding towards me with the air of a common brawler rather than a king, and I saw that he held a paper in his hand. Not knowing what to anticipate, I prepared for some outburst, but it was difficult to master my astonishment when, without replying to my obeisance, he thrust the letter into my hand, exclaiming,—
“Explain that, sir!”