He looked down sheepishly, but sullen still, and I saw his hands shaking as if with palsy. He had not counted the cost. Sophia’s silence during this scene had been singularly ominous, and now she spoke calmly.
“Go on, Vasili Ivanovitch,” she said; “who brought the locket to the goldsmith’s house?”
“Princess,” I said, forestalling Kourbsky, but speaking with courtesy, “permit me to warn you that the knave who has talked with your chamberlain is but a lying servant, and the woman a cook; neither of them knows anything of the matter.”
“That is so,” added Maître le Bastien gravely; “these people were never in my confidence. Your highness may be greatly misled by them.”
But she was too keen to be thrown off the track. She narrowed her small eyes, drooping her lids, and looked at us, but she signed to Kourbsky to proceed, which he did joyfully.
“The man tells me—through the woman,” he said, “that the locket was brought to the shop one afternoon by the Princess Daria Kirilovna.”
I saw the czarevna draw a deep breath, and her eyes sparkled with something akin to fierce joy. I tried to speak, but she ordered me to be silent, beckoning to Advotia.
“Come hither, woman,” she said sternly, and then to Michaud, “come hither also, knave.”
They both obeyed; Advotia dropping on her knees in great agitation, her fat cheeks quivering, while Michaud—comprehending her gesture rather than her words—stood forth, half sullen and half frightened. The princess began to question him in Russ, but as he understood not a word of what she said, he could only shake his head and stare blankly. Then she addressed her questions to Advotia.
“So you cook for the Frenchmen?” she said.