“Did he intend to see Zotof?” Zénaïde asked with surprise.
“He went mainly for that purpose,” I replied, “although what he expected to gain by the interview I cannot imagine. The ‘Prince Pope’ is not likely to accept for his ward the hand of a poor Frenchman, instead of the czar, even if her coronation is not an immediate prospect. Peter would not insult her family by treating her with neglect; moreover, I believe that he really loves Najine.”
Madame de Brousson shrugged her shoulders scornfully, her lip curling.
“I believe that some thought that King Louis loved Madame de Montespan,” she said.
“The case is different, Zénaïde,” I returned quietly. “Madame de Montespan could never have been more than the king’s mistress, Madame de Maintenon can never be Queen of France, but it is different with the Romanoff. He can make mademoiselle czarina, if he chooses, and he undoubtedly will marry again. It is desirable that there should be other heirs. Monseigneur with all his dulness is far more acceptable to King Louis than is Alexis to his father. Peter might make Catherine share the fate of Anna Mons, but Najine has too powerful a party behind her, and he loves her. I have seen him strongly moved, and I know that the man is genuine.”
“You have an admiration for him,” my wife remarked dryly; “he always fascinated your interest. I confess that I remember that the Czarevna Sophia saved us both, and I cannot love the czar’s treatment of her.”
“Yet there is no doubt,” I said calmly, “that she deserved it.”
“Alas, M. le Vicomte,” she replied, smiling, “if you fall back on our merits, who can expect a better fate?”
“Hark! what is that?” I exclaimed, listening.
We both heard an unusual disturbance at the lower entrance, and the sound of voices. In another moment the door of the room was opened without ceremony by Pierrot, who stood aside to admit two closely veiled women. My wife rose from her chair with an exclamation of surprise, while I sat looking at them bewildered. It was not until they dropped their mantles that we recognized them. It was mademoiselle and her woman, Neonila. Najine threw back her hood, and her usually pale face was flushed with excitement. Behind them stood Pierrot, for the first time in his life too astonished to remember his duty and withdraw. Madame de Brousson, recovering her wits first, went up to Najine, and taking both her hands drew her to the chair by the fire.