I bowed gravely, and taking up a taper prepared to light him through the corridor.
“Not so fast, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he said quietly; “the other door, if you please, and M. de Lambert can walk in front.”
I bit my lip; my choler was rising fast, and it cost me an effort to obey him with the courtesy which was his due, and I saw that M. de Lambert was furious. However, we were compelled to open the door and walk like two children before him through the adjoining rooms; to my infinite relief, they were empty, and though he lifted the arras there was no one concealed behind it, and his face darkened as he proceeded, without any result for his pains. The apartment in which he had found us adjoined two others, which in turn were separated by a narrow passage and ante-room from my wife’s sleeping-room, and at her door the procession halted. The czar motioned to me to proceed, but I stood unmoved.
“This is Madame de Brousson’s apartment,” I said with dignity; “your Majesty does not intend to intrude here.”
For the moment he was nonplussed. It would be indeed an extreme measure to search my wife’s rooms, and yet he and I both knew that here was the fair fugitive whom he sought. He stood irresolute, anger glowing in his dark eyes, and his lips compressed; then looking up he caught the gleam of triumph in M. de Lambert’s eye, and that decided him.
“Be kind enough to inform Madame de Brousson that the czar desires to speak with her,” he said sternly.
With a heavy heart I tapped upon the door and delivered his message. To my amazement, Zénaïde threw open the door, and came out to greet him with a sweeping curtsy.
“I am at your Majesty’s service,” she said, with a woman’s graceful tact, ignoring his angry aspect.
Peter looked beyond her into an apparently vacant room, and I saw astonishment mingle with the displeasure on his countenance.
“Madame,” he said gravely, “you have Najine Zotof in your room; where is she?”