She shook her head. “Alas!” she said, “they will not be satisfied until they have his blood. I thought that they would have mine when they dragged me through the streets to the Kremlin. Nothing saved me but Sophia and the young Czarina Martha; she concealed me in her own room until now, when I could endure it no longer. Poor Jan Gutmensch was killed, in spite of the intercession of the princesses, you know, M. le Vicomte?”
“Let us hope that your good husband has escaped from Moscow,” I said, reassuringly.
“I pray so,” the poor woman replied brokenly. “But I hear their howls for his blood all the time. They were like the cries of wolves, M. de Brousson; they have less pity than the beasts.”
“Yet, be of good cheer, madame,” I said soothingly. “Your husband has evaded them so long, let us hope that he may still succeed. The hottest pursuit grows tardy after a while, and their patience will be soon exhausted.”
She was eager enough to snatch at a straw of comfort, and quieted down under my soothing remonstrance. Presently she went up with me, and I sent mademoiselle and Zénaïde to comfort her. In a great degree I shared her anxiety, for the mob had made a point from the first to demand the death of Von Gaden. It seemed improbable that the Jew could successfully elude them, when not even the Czarina Natalia could protect her own brothers.
I went down again to find Pierrot, hoping to hear some reassuring tidings; but before I called him, I heard a light step on the stair, and Zénaïde was looking down upon me, her lovely face full of anxiety.
“What is it?” I exclaimed softly, reaching up until I touched her hand upon the balustrade.
“Has my father come yet, Philippe?” she asked. “I feel sure that he will have tidings for this poor woman. I cannot bear to see her so broken down.”
“Alas, Zénaïde!” I replied gravely, “any news may be evil for her. They have never ceased to search for poor Von Gaden, and I have really little hope of his escape. It seems a miracle that he has avoided them so long.”
“The wretches!” she exclaimed, the color mounting in her cheeks. “If I were czarina of all the Russias—” she paused, seeing a smile in my eyes.