“Trewinnard has just revealed a very painful and serious fact, Markoff,” exclaimed the Emperor, in a deep, earnest voice. “Her Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia has disappeared.”
The General gave no sign of surprise.
“It has already been reported to us,” was his calm answer. “I have not reported it, in turn, to Your Majesty, fearing to cause undue alarm. Both here and in England we are instituting every possible inquiry.”
“Another plot,” I remarked, with considerable sarcasm, I fear.
“Probably,” was His Excellency’s reply, as he turned to His Imperial Master, and in that fawning voice of his, added: “Your Majesty may rest assured that if Her Highness be alive she will be found, wherever she may be.”
Hatred—hatred most intense—arose within my heart as I glanced at the sinister face of the favourite before me, the man who had deliberately ordered the commission of that crime which had resulted in the death of the Emperor’s brother, the Grand Duke Nicholas. To his orders had been due that exciting episode in which I had so nearly lost my life in Siberia; at his orders, too, poor Marya de Rosen had been deliberately sent to her grave; and at his orders had been planned the conspiracy against the Grand Duchess which Danilo Danilovitch had intended to carry into execution, and would no doubt have done, had he not been prevented by Hartwig’s boldness.
I longed to turn and denounce him before his Imperial Master. Indeed, hot, angry words were upon my lips, but I suppressed them. No! The time was not yet ripe. Natalia herself had promised to make the revelations, and to her I must leave them.
I must find her—and then.
“Ah!” exclaimed His Majesty, well pleased. “I knew that you would be already informed, Markoff. You know everything. Nothing which affects my family ever escapes you.”
“I hope not, Sire. I trust I may ever be permitted to display my loyalty and gratitude for the confidence which Your Majesty sees fit to repose in me.”