“It is Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky and her demoiselle de compagnie,” I said at once, “come to you in an hour of great distress, and at my recommendation.”
Von Gaden started at the mention of her name, and was looking at me curiously.
“This is strange,” he remarked thoughtfully; “the coincidences of this life are marvelous!”
“I ventured to appeal to you to help her,” I went on, “because you, before any one, knew of the villainy of her uncle. He is now determined to force this young girl to marry that rogue, Viatscheslav Naryshkin, to-morrow morning, and she has declared that she will sooner die. In this extremity, I could think of but two avenues of escape for her: one was a direct appeal to the Czarevna Sophia; the other, temporary concealment in your house, until influence can be brought to bear upon Ramodanofsky, to compel him to surrender his purpose. I have reason to believe that the czarevna will aid her cheerfully.”
Von Gaden took a short turn across the room, evidently much excited.
“May I ask you a question that must seem impertinent, M. de Brousson?” he said at last. “How did you penetrate the fortress of a Russian house and learn these secrets, when Ramodanofsky is, I know, no friend of yours?”
My color rose, but I understood the Jew’s amazement.
“I owe my success to my own temerity,” I replied; “the confidence is from my sister’s old governess, Mademoiselle Eudoxie. But if they cannot safely stay here under your wife’s protection, you must tell me at once, so that we can go straight to the Kremlin.”
“Are you mad, Brousson?” exclaimed Von Gaden, hastily. “Go to the Kremlin in the midst of such excitement! Sophia is not strong enough to-day to protect the palace from the violence of the mob that she has tried to excite to mutiny ever since the Czar Feodor’s funeral. Zénaïde Feodorovna is welcome to the shelter of my roof as long as I have one. It would be madness to go out again to-night. Vladimir Ramodanofsky will search well for his victim, and he will not let her escape so easily again. These are uncertain times, M. le Vicomte. To-day it looks as if the scale were turning in the favor of the Naryshkins. Matveief is holding a reception at his house, and all the courtiers are carrying presents to him; who can tell whether or not that astute old chancellor may not stem the tide of popular displeasure and establish his former ward’s son firmly upon the throne? In which case,” added Von Gaden, snapping his fingers, “I would not give that for Sophia’s influence at court.”
I would not be discouraged. “I differ with you,” I said at once; “I do not believe that forty Matveiefs could turn the tide at this late hour. The thunder of sedition is already rumbling over yonder in the quarters of the Streltsi, and I have seen Basil Galitsyn’s confidence; he is too shrewd a man to plant his feet on sand.”