“No, Trewinnard, I suppose you do not follow me. It is all a mystery to you, of course,”—and he paused—“as mysterious as the sudden disappearance of Madame de Rosen and her daughter Luba from Petersburg.”
“Disappearance?” I echoed, amazed. “They are still in Petersburg. I dined with them only last night!”
“They are not now in Petersburg,” replied the Emperor very quietly. “They left at nine o’clock this morning on a long journey—to Siberia.”
My heart gave a great bound.
“To Siberia!” I gasped, staring at him. “Are they exiled? Who has done this?”
“I have done it,” was his hard reply. “They are revolutionists—implicated in the attempt that was to be made upon me early this morning as I drove up the Nevski.”
“Markoff has denounced them?”
“He has. See, here is a full list of names of the conspirators,” and he took a slip of paper from his desk.
“And General Markoff told Your Majesty of my friendliness with Madame and her daughter?”
“Certainly.”