“Because, your Majesty,” she replied in a clear voice, “Louis de Bourbon is the first gentleman in France.”
The czar started as if she had struck him in the face, and the blood rushed to his temples. I caught my breath. What will not a woman dare? Yet her manner was perfect, her composure unruffled. For a moment I anticipated an explosion, and thought that Peter would resent her reply as a deadly insult; but he commanded his passion and made her a profound bow.
“Madame has read me a lesson,” he said bluntly, “that I would not accept from less beauty and merit, but sometimes it is well for a czar to be reminded that he is a man and not infallible. Madame, I will not be excelled in courtesy by the King of France; close your door and keep your counsel, but convey to your fair prisoner that she is a subject of Russia and must obey her sovereign. Let her return quietly to the house of her uncle, or else she will answer for her disobedience. Even the King of France, I think, compels his fair subjects to respect his authority.”
“Nay, your Majesty,” Zénaïde replied calmly, “the king my master reigns not by fear. A Frenchwoman is never a slave.”
“I have often regretted, madame, that your marriage made you a French subject,” Peter rejoined, “but I perceive now that I am fortunate, since you would have taught my whole petticoated tribe the principles of sedition.”
Zénaïde smiled. “Your Majesty would not desire a mean-spirited flock of women,” she said quietly, “all modelled in the mould of blind acquiescence to one will.”
“I have no such good hope as that,” replied the czar, dryly; “since the days of Eve, madame, your sex has been a source of trouble. It was the apple of obstinacy that your ancestress ate, as well as that of knowledge. But I request you to convey my message to Najine Zotof.”
“It will be my first duty, your Majesty,” she replied, “when I see mademoiselle.”
He made her a mocking bow. “When you see her, madame,” he replied with a cynical smile, and then, turning on his heel, he walked away through the rooms, followed by M. de Lambert and me, but ignoring us both until he reached the head of the stairs. At the foot I saw Pierrot with the czar’s equerry looking up at us, and understood why Peter had come up unannounced. He turned upon us with a return of his haughty manner, his dark eyes on M. de Lambert’s face.
“As for you, young sir,” he said coldly, “you are too clever in the gallantry of courts. France is your proper sphere, and pray do not allow us to detain you here. I will direct the authorities to furnish you with your passport.”