“Count on me, Uncle Colin!” she echoed. “Why, of course, you can! Look at my indebtedness to you, and it will be increased if you can secure me permission to go back to England.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ll do what I can. But you have told me no untruths to-night, not one—?” I asked very seriously. “If so, admit it.”
“Not one. I swear I haven’t.”
“Very well,” I said. “Then I’ll do my best.”
“Ah! you are a real dear!” cried the girl enthusiastically. “I almost feel as though I could hug and kiss you!”
“Better not,” I laughed. “There are some people sitting over there, and they would talk—”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I suppose really one ought to be a bit careful, after all. When will you see the Emperor?”
“Perhaps to-morrow—if he gives me audience.” Then I related to her the story of the attempt in the Nevski on the previous morning, and the intention of assassinating the Emperor as he drove from the Nicholas station to the Palace.
“Ah, yes!” she cried. “It is all too dreadful. For seven weeks we have lived in constant terror of explosions. I could not go through it again for all the world. Those days in that stuffy armoured train were simply awful. His Majesty only undertook the journey in order to defy those who declared that some terrible catastrophe would happen. The Empress knew nothing of the danger until we had started.”
“And yet the only danger lay within half a mile of the Palace on your return,” I said. “There have, I hear, been thirty-three arrested to-day, including my friends Madame de Rosen and Luba. You knew them.”