“I will go to His Highness and tell him you are ill,” he suggested. But I would not hear of Pierre getting himself into trouble over me.
So, after the performance, I waited in fear and trembling in my dressing-room. Several other members of the company were there also, curious and disturbed as to the outcome, while Pierre Berton had a positively ferocious expression on his face. He looked as though he would like to eat all the Grand Dukes in Russia.
This was the first intimation I had had regarding the true state of Berton’s feelings towards me. His declaration of love and our marriage did not come until years later.
Finally the Grand Duke came in. He was in full evening dress, and when seen near at hand appeared a most amiable gentleman.
He bowed to the company, and when one of the ladies dropped a curtsey, his eyes twinkled. I was thoroughly frightened, but when he held out his arm to me, I stepped forward in spite of myself. He was so thoroughly courteous! Berton blurted out something indistinguishable, but fortunately did not interfere. I went out with my Grand Duke.
Well, the story has not the ending the reader may have been led to expect. The supper was a gay one, but all the men present behaved themselves quite properly and the Grand Duke was more like a father to me than a lover. Afterwards, he took me for a ride in his open barouche, and then accompanied me home.
At the hotel, when they saw who had brought me back, they received me with open mouths. It was the Hotel Demouth, a little place but very smart, opposite the statue of Catherine the Great. I had moved there because the European was too noisy.
The manager himself escorted me upstairs to my room and bowed me in. I had become a personage!
I told Sarah about it the next day, and she complimented me.
“However,” she said, “nothing would have happened to you if you had not gone! That same Grand Duke wanted me to dine with him the other night, and I said I would if I could bring Damala, and that finished it!”