“Good-bye,” she cried to Pembroke, waving her hand. “To-morrow at four o’clock he comes—I shall begin making my toilette at twelve.”
“Very pretty ball of Eliza Peyton’s,” said the Colonel, settling himself back in the carriage and buttoning up his great-coat. “Volkonsky—ha! ha! And that fellow, Ahlberg—by Gad! an infernal sneaking cur—I beg your pardon, my dear, for swearing, but of all the damned impostors I ever saw M. Volkonsky is the greatest, excepting always Eliza Peyton.”
CHAPTER XVI.
While Olivia might wince, and the Colonel chuckle over the Volkonsky incident, it was a more serious matter to Volkonsky. He had certainly taken into account the possibility of meeting some old acquaintances, but neither he nor Madame Volkonsky had cared to keep up with events in the remote county in Virginia, where they had passed some agitating days. Volkonsky therefore was quite unaware that Pembroke was in Congress. The first meeting to him was an unpleasant shock, as he had learned to fear Pembroke much in other days. But when he began to inquire quietly about him of Ryleief, who evidently knew him, Volkonsky’s discomfort was very much increased. For Ryleief, who rather exaggerated the influence of a representative in Congress, impressed forcibly upon Volkonsky that Pembroke possessed power—and when Volkonsky began to take in that Pembroke’s determined enmity as a member of the Foreign Affairs Committee might amount to something, he began to be much disturbed. Before the last guest had rolled away from the door on the night of the ball, Volkonsky and his wife were closeted together in the Minister’s little study. Whatever passing fancy Madame Volkonsky might have entertained for Pembroke some years ago, Volkonsky was quite indifferent—and if Pembroke retained any lingering weakness for her—well enough—he might be induced to let Volkonsky dwell in peace.
When Madame Volkonsky entered the room, her husband placed a chair for her. Often they quarreled, and sometimes they were reported to fight, but he never omitted those little attentions. Madame Volkonsky’s face was pale. She did not know how much lay in Pembroke’s power to harm them, but she was shaken by the encounter. It was hard, just at the opening of a new life, to meet those people. It was so easy to be good now. They were free for a time from duns and creditors—for during her marriage to Ahlberg she had become acquainted with both. She had a fine establishment, a splendid position—and at the very outset arose the ghost of a dead and gone fancy, and the woman before whom she had in vain humiliated herself, and the man who knew enough to ruin her husband. It was trying and it made her look weary and very old. Volkonsky began in French:
“So you met your old acquaintances to-night.”
“Yes.”
“That charming M. le Colonel called you Eliza Peyton.”
“Yes,” again answered Madame Volkonsky.
“This comes of that crazy expedition to America which I tried to dissuade you from.”