His lip curled scornfully. “Do you take me for a fool, M. le Maréchal?” he exclaimed; “I presume that your wife did go out that door—and who went with her?”
I was standing opposite to him, my hand resting on the back of the chair that he had refused, and I looked him full in the face.
“Your Majesty is pleased to cross-question me closely about the affairs of my own household,” I said haughtily.
“M. de Brousson,” he replied hotly, “Najine Zotof is in this house and you know it.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “If your Majesty is convinced that the young woman is here, why should I be questioned?” I said, conscious that the blood burned on my cheeks, for his glance was exasperating.
“There is wisdom in that remark, sir,” he replied tartly. “It is indeed unnecessary for you to reply, because I know she is here—here without the consent or knowledge of her guardians,” he struck his hand on the table sharply, “here on some foolish errand. Therefore, M. le Maréchal, I demand that you bring her before me.”
I saw M. de Lambert’s face flush scarlet, and his hand seek the hilt of his sword, and dreaded some act of folly. I was striving to plan some escape and did not reply to the czar.
“Are you deaf, sir?” Peter exclaimed harshly. “Produce Najine Zotof.”
I did not move, but stood erect before him, my arms folded on my breast.
“Your Majesty,” I said slowly, “I owe you profound respect, the reverence due to an anointed king, the courtesy due to the friend of my master; but I am an officer of Louis, King of France, and my oath binds me to his service alone. I cannot become an equerry to any other sovereign, nor would I do police duty for his Majesty of France. Your Majesty’s commands unhappily exceed the limit of my compliance.”