“Mademoiselle Zénaïde,” I said, in a low voice, “he shall never so sacrifice you while I live. There is one sword always at your service.”
Her beautiful face was crimson with embarrassment, and her hand fluttered in my detaining clasp; but I saw that she was deeply touched, even if half-frightened at my vehemence.
“Alas, M. le Vicomte,” she exclaimed, looking at me sorrowfully, “what could you do among so many? How could you oppose my uncle?”
Remembering the lost packet and Sophia’s probable displeasure, I was a little nonplussed myself.
“I would find some way to save you!” I exclaimed. “For my king’s sake, I am privileged at court, and I would appeal to the czar.”
“Ah, no!” she said, at once losing hope, “you forget that the man whom my uncle has selected is a cousin of the Czar Peter.”
“It matters not!” I exclaimed desperately, “I would find a way; your uncle has no right to barter your happiness.”
She smiled bitterly. “A young girl’s happiness is not often considered,” she said; “sometimes I think it is better to be old and ugly like Mademoiselle Eudoxie, since no one could desire to marry her.”
“Never regret being beautiful, mademoiselle,” I said impulsively, “since you can give happiness by merely smiling upon the rest of us poor mortals!”
“Hush!” she exclaimed, “I hear a footstep. Arise, M. le Vicomte. If the door is opened now, you are betrayed.”