Chapter Thirty Two.
At What Cost!
Colonel Paul Polivanoff, Marshal of the Imperial Court, gorgeous in his pale-blue and gold uniform of the Nijni-Novgorod Dragoons, with many decorations, tapped at the white-enamelled steel door of His Majesty’s private cabinet in the Palace of Tzarskoie-Selo, and then entered, announcing in French:
“Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia and M’sieur Colin Trewinnard.”
Nine days had passed since that parting of the lovers at Lochearnhead, and now, as we stood upon the threshold of the bomb-proof chamber, I knew that our visit there in company was to be a momentous event in the history of modern Russia.
As we entered, the Emperor, who had been busy with the pile of State documents upon his table, rose, settled the hang of his sword—for he was in a dark green military uniform, with the double-headed eagle of Saint Andrew in diamonds at his throat—and turned to meet us.
Towards me His Majesty extended a cordial welcome, but I could plainly detect that his niece’s presence caused him displeasure.
“So you are back again in Russia—eh, Tattie?” he snapped in French, speaking in that language instead of Russian because of my presence. “It seems that during your absence you have been guilty of some very grave indiscretions and more than one scandalous escapade—eh?”
“I am here to explain to Your Majesty,” the girl said quite calmly, and looking very pale and sweet in her half-mourning.