“Of course,” answered the Princess, with a pretty assumption of indignation. “Do you think I would suffer any man to kiss me unless I were sure he were going to be my husband?”
As he walked back to his hotel Corsini felt as if he were treading on air. How thankful he was to the kindly old Count for that hint, to strike while the iron was hot. Left to himself, he might have lost her for want of boldness. And now, Nada had promised to be his wife. Very shortly he and his dear little sister would both be happily married.
Later in the day, when the Emperor’s private cabinet had been cleared of his official counsellors, Alexander held an important conversation with a man as strong and stalwart as himself, closely resembling him in height and build. This man was an illegitimate son of one of the Romanoffs, and had ever devoted himself to his Majesty’s person and given a hundred proofs of his loyalty.
“Listen, my faithful Sergius,” said the autocrat, as he motioned him to a seat. “I have something to tell you that will startle you. You know that to-night we hold a bal-masqué at the Winter Palace. You will be there.”
The man Sergius nodded. On these more or less ceremonious occasions he was never far from his master’s side. He had no subtlety of intellect, he had little sense of diplomacy. It was impossible to advance him very far, to make him into even the semblance of a statesman, but he worshipped his Emperor and relative with a canine fidelity. He was a magnificent watch-dog and would lay down his life for his master.
“There is a plot on foot, engineered by Prince Zouroff and others, to assassinate me to-night in the ball-room of the Winter Palace.”
Sergius recoiled in horror. “But where are your guards, your police? What are Golitzine, Beilski, and Burovkin doing?” he cried in amazement. He started from his chair, ever a man of action. “Let me go round to the Zouroff Palace at once, get hold of this ruffian and choke the life out of him. You can then punish me for a brief space and then give me a free pardon—extenuating circumstances, or something of that sort.”
Alexander smiled kindly. Sergius, the man of proved loyalty, spoke, as usual, from his full heart. But, as ever, he lacked discretion.
“A most excellent idea, my good old friend and cousin, but in this century we cannot proceed on strictly mediæval lines. Besides, we want to take them, so to speak, red-handed. Golitzine is working admirably. So are Burovkin and Beilski; they will see to the soldiers and the police. They wanted to arrange my part in the affair—I know what they would have proposed, that I should absent myself—I determined to take the matter in hand personally. If I am not there, and they already know how I purpose to be dressed, they will not carry out their plot; they will postpone it, and we shall still be hanging on the tenterhooks of suspense, wondering when the blow will fall. Let it fall to-night, as they have planned, and let them be taken red-handed. That is my policy.”