But I had yet to face the czarevna, or I thought I had, but fortune favoured me. Sophia trusted Kurakin; she did not attempt to come down into the chapel, but spoke to us through the lattice, raising her voice that we might hear her, where we stood.
“Mikhail Ivanovitch,” she said, “take your wife away—out of the palace—if you can; use my signet, if need be, and I have promised to protect her father; he is below in the Golden Hall, and I will send a message to him; the rest I leave to you. I must go down to the czarina; I have lost too much precious time already. Much happiness I wish you!” she added spitefully, and laughed.
And happily, without waiting for my reply, she abruptly left the lattice; and disappeared in the direction by which she had entered first, which was also a great good fortune, for I had fully expected that she would go by the room where Kurakin was bound, and so discover, at once, the fraud that had been practised upon her.
When she had gone the priest smilingly congratulated me, but, I think, he dared not speak to my bride. He knew, doubtless, that she was an unwilling one—forced marriages were of frequent occurrence in Moscow—and he contented himself with a profound obeisance when I handed him some gold pieces that I had upon me.
Then I turned to the rigid figure at my side. I must get her away, and yet I did not know how far she would consent to be guided by me. In the presence of a third person, though, I did not now fear betrayal. I held out my hand with as easy a manner as I could assume.
“We will go this way,” I said. I was going to call her my bride, for form’s sake, but something in her look froze the words on my tongue.
She would not take my hand, but signified by a gesture that she would follow me and, in this fashion, I, a new-made bridegroom, led the way into the painted gallery, and then, as the free air of heaven, blowing in through the open casements, touched her face and the light of day shone on her, she stood still and looked at me. And I waited, my heart in my throat—I confess it. But she was not thinking of me, or of herself.
“My father,” she said; “it is my duty to go to him—to save him.”
“So you shall,” I replied, with distant courtesy, “if mortal man can help you. Wait here but a moment; I go for the signet, and to secure your enemy.”
She gave me a keen look and went and leaned on the window, her face like death.