Wilfrid’s statement that he would face the Czar in duel was no boast, but who should be his second?
Having no very high opinion of the Czar’s honour, Wilfrid considered it advisable to have a friendly witness to see fair play. But who would care to be his companion in a venture so perilous? He rapidly ran over in his mind the limited circle of friends, or rather of acquaintances, he had made in St. Petersburg, and knew full well there was not one upon whose spirit he could rely. Second the Czar’s adversary! The very idea would take away their breath.
Without knowing it he had stopped short before the French Embassy, a fact of which he was made aware by observing a covered carriage whose panels bore the armorial device of the Marquis de Vaucluse.
A moment afterwards the French Ambassador appeared, descending the steps of his mansion.
“Ah!” murmured Wilfrid, an idea striking him. “Perhaps M. de Vaucluse can recommend a man bold enough to act as my second.”
The Marquis, about to step into his carriage, stopped on seeing Wilfrid, and advanced with outstretched hand.
“I must apologise,” said Wilfrid, “for returning from the masquerade without the Baroness, but a grave event has called me away. Can you favour me with a word in private?”
De Vaucluse led the way into the entrance hall, and thence into a small cabinet.
“To be brief, Monsieur, I have been challenged to a duel. It is to take place within four hours, and at some distance from St. Petersburg. At so short a notice I have a difficulty in finding a second, especially as I have but few friends in this city. Can you recommend a gentleman, one of resolute courage, inasmuch as my adversary is a high political personage?”
“Supposing that I cannot name one?”
“In that case I must proceed alone.”
“That shall not be. It shall never be said that a seigneur of old France was lacking in chivalry. Permit me to have the honour.”
“The honour is mine; but will you not be compromising your own character as ambassador?”
“Hasn’t Pauline told you what has happened? No? France has at the present moment no representative in St. Petersburg. Two weeks ago I forwarded my resignation to the Consulate. It was accepted, and my successor will arrive within a few days. My resignation,” he continued in answer to Wilfrid’s look of inquiry, “has no connection with politics. It has been made on purely personal grounds. I desire Pauline to leave Russia, and I see no other way of accomplishing my end than by leaving it myself.”
While speaking he glanced keenly at Wilfrid, as if to mark the effect of his words, and seemed to derive satisfaction from Wilfrid’s blank look; for, the Princess excepted, there was no one in St. Petersburg whom Wilfrid liked better than Pauline, and therefore he heard the news with deep regret.
“Your offer to be my second is extremely generous, but you will do well to refrain till you shall have heard the name of my adversary.”
“A seigneur of France knows not fear. I am your second whoever be your adversary. A high political personage? Humph! One of the Czar’s ministers, I suppose?”
“Higher than a minister.”
“Ciel! Surely not a Grand Duke?”
“Higher than a Grand Duke.”
The Marquis looked hard at Wilfrid.
“There is no one higher than a Grand Duke except the Czar.”
“Incredible as it may appear, my adversary is the Czar!”
The Marquis showed surprise, yet that surprise was not so great as Wilfrid had expected. There was about him an air of satisfaction, as if he were pleased at the situation.
“With what weapons do you fight?”
“With swords.”
“And you are deadly with the sword, I understand,” said the Marquis. “As most duels are caused by a lady,” he went on, “I presume yours is no exception to the rule?”
“No exception.”
He begged for a little light on the matter, and Wilfrid accordingly gave a hurried account of the events that had brought him into connection with the Princess Marie, making no mention, however, of the compromising adventure at the Silver Birch. The Marquis was deeply interested, and—a puzzling point to Wilfrid—even pleased. He seemed to brighten more and more as the story reached its climax.
“I thought I was well acquainted with all the personalities of the Russian court,” he remarked at the close of Wilfrid’s narration, “but I must confess that this Princess Marie is to me an unknown person. And the duel is to be to the death?”
“So said the Czar.”
“Then I hope you will kill him!”
“Monsieur!” said Wilfrid, surprised at the vehemence of the other’s utterance.
“I hope,” repeated the Marquis, slowly emphasising each word, “that—you—will—kill—him!”
“You have suffered a wrong at his hand?”
“Not yet, but it is certain to come if his life continue. It were better for—for some of us that he were dead. Therefore, as I have said, I hope you will kill him.”
“He mayn’t give me the opportunity,” smiled Wilfrid. “Should I find myself his superior, I shall just show him what I could do with his life if I chose; but as to killing him, what would Paul—the Baroness say if I were to slay the Czar? Is he not her hero? But, monsieur, on reflection I will ask you to withdraw from this affair. Though Alexander may pardon my wounding him his ministers may not prove so chivalrous. Should the Czar be brought home injured there will be a hue and cry for his assailants. Why should I imperil your life as well as my own?”
“In asking me to be your second you have conferred a high honour upon me. This affair is certain to be famous. We shall live in history—you and I. You see,” he went on with a smile, “that vanity has something to do with my motives. Now, as your second, let me urge you to leave St. Petersburg at once, lest your uncle or Panine should communicate this matter to the police. The Czar they dare not meddle with, but they would not hesitate to seize his opponent. Did you tell your uncle the place of the rendezvous? You did not? And Panine does not know it? Good! Set off this minute. Take my carriage; it is drawn by my two fleetest horses. A little beyond the eighth verst-post you say? Ah! that is very fortunate, since near that same verst-post, but on this side of it, lives Ruric, the charcoal burner. He is one of Pauline’s freed serfs. You have but to mention her name, and there is nothing he will not do to serve you.”
“I do not understand.”
“To meet the Czar you must be near the rendezvous, but not too near.”
“Why so?”
“Supposing the secret of the rendezvous has become known, what more likely than that a band of Cossacks will be despatched to the spot to carry you off before the Czar arrives? Now this Ruric resides a little way past the seventh verst-post in a hut not visible from the road, which at this point is bordered on both sides by dense forest. He dwells on the left side of the road; the appointed glade, you say, is on the right. While you remained concealed within his hut, he can reconnoitre for you without exciting suspicion. Should he report the presence of police or soldiers, you will know that you have been betrayed, in which case you will do well not to show yourself. As for me, I will join you later, not leaving the city till the last moment to mark if anything suspicious takes place. When you are passing the seventh verst-post Ivor will drive the carriage close to the trees, and when opposite the path spring out without stopping the carriage, and by following the path you’ll come to the hut. Meanwhile, the carriage will drive on, returning to the city by a circuitous route, so that should any mounted spies be following, they’ll be thrown off the scent. For the present, farewell, and good fortune attend you.”
With that the Marquis wrung Wilfrid’s hand and accompanied him to the door, and having first taken a precautionary glance along the street he pushed Wilfrid into the carriage.
“I am unarmed, monsieur,” observed Wilfrid. “A sword would be——”
“No, no! Don’t play into the enemy’s hand. They’ll do no hurt to a nephew of the British Ambassador if you yield quietly. But offer resistance, and that’ll be a convenient excuse for putting a bullet through your head. Your single sword will be no match for a dozen carbines.”
He whispered a few words of instruction in the driver’s ear, and Ivor set off at the furious gallop common to all Muscovite coachmen.
“So he intends merely to wound him,” murmured De Vaucluse as he walked slowly back to the cabinet. “Ah, but accidents may happen! It were better for Pauline that he were dead. It is the only way to save her from——”
The sound of light footsteps came tripping along outside the cabinet, and the next moment his daughter appeared.
On seeing her father Pauline sprang forward to kiss him. Full of a pleasurable excitement, she did not notice that he gave her but a cold reception.
“Ah! mon père, why were you not at the masquerade to-night to witness my triumph? See, I bring home the tiara given as the prize for the daintiest costume. Do I not look beautiful?” she added, placing the ornament upon her dark hair and glancing with pardonable pride at her image in the mirror.
“’Twere better if you were less beautiful!”
There was in his words an intonation that caused Pauline to look hard at him as if she were trying to read his thoughts. He returned her look, and for a few moments they stood gazing at each other.
Pauline did not, however, seem at all disconcerted.
“Mon père, how grave you are! I will show you by and by that you have reason for joy.”
“Pauline, my mind is made up. Within a few hours we set out for Lovisa.”
“Lovisa! In Finland?”
“And thence to Sweden. You and I are leaving St. Petersburg for ever.”
“For ever! That is a long time, mon père, especially when I have the best reason in the world for remaining in Russia.”
“Your reason—I know it well—for remaining is the very reason that induces me to remove you.”
A smile of triumph appeared on her lips.
“I fear that you misapprehend the situation. Nay, I am sure you do. When you hear all I have to say you will change your mind.”
“Nothing that you can say will induce me to change my mind. You will set out first; I will follow later. Lord Courtenay will perhaps accompany us: at least, I will do my best to persuade him. It will not be safe for him to remain any longer in Russia.”
“Why, what new piece of mischief has that knight-errant been doing?”
“This morning at eight o’clock he commits the most daring deed of his life.”
Pauline elevated her pretty eyebrows in surprise.
“A daring deed! He did not tell me of it to-night. You are more in his confidence than I am. You have a story to tell, is it not so? Eh, bien, tell it me. See, I am listening. I am, as the English say, all ears.”
“Had you returned two minutes earlier you would have met Lord Courtenay.”
“What! has he been here?”
“He was in this room with a story that should interest you—you, perhaps, more than any other person,” said her father drily. “At the masquerade Lord Courtenay chanced to meet a certain lady.”
“I was hoping that he would.”
“A lady whose true name he has never been able to learn.”
“Her reticence on that point is a high tribute to his sense of virtue. She knows very well that on his hearing it he would have no more to do with her.”
“What! you know this lady?”
“My enemy. Siberia would now be my home could she have her way.”
“Who is she?”
“That’s a surprise I’ll keep in reserve. You shall learn by and by. Continue your story, mon père.”
“Do you know that this lady is loved by Alexander?”
“You should put that remark in the past tense,” said Pauline with an odd smile.
“This favourite of the Czar was so gracious as to bestow a kiss upon Lord Courtenay, and, unfortunately for her, the Czar himself witnessed the act.”
Pauline laughed softly.
“The very result desired by me,” she said.
“You are pleased. Yes, I can quite comprehend your motive in wishing that this lady should forfeit the Czar’s regard. You will not find the sequel so pleasing. The Czar and Lord Courtenay came to words.”
“Over the lady! Strange, when matters were taking a course acceptable to all three! And I suppose that Lord Courtenay, so bold before Paul, was equally bold with Paul’s son?”
“He did not know at the time that he was speaking to Paul’s son, since Alexander would neither remove his mask nor disclose his identity. But Lord Courtenay has learned his name since.”
“And what was the end of the affair?”
“The end comes this morning at eight, when the Czar and Lord Courtenay cross swords!”
In a moment Pauline’s airy manner was gone. She rose from her seat, trembling in every limb, but sank down again apparently powerless.
“A duel!” she gasped.
“To the death! Such is Alexander’s determination.”
“A duel!” she repeated in hollow tones. “Between those two! Oh, it can’t be! You say this to frighten me. Emperors don’t fight duels.”
“Alexander acted, perhaps, on the spur of the moment in giving a challenge to the finest swordsman of the day, but having given it he will keep his word.”
“Lord Courtenay must be persuaded to withdraw.”
“Pshaw! As well bid the sun not shine! That his opponent is the Czar lends added zest to the fight.”
Pauline shuddered.
“He dare not kill the Czar.”
“Not purposely, perhaps, but in the hot excitement of——”
“Speak the truth, mon père,” interrupted Pauline with an indignant flash of her eyes. “Say that you are hoping to see the Czar killed!”
“That is my hope.”
“Why?”
“Can you ask why?” returned the Marquis. “To preserve the honour of Pauline de Vaucluse. And that is the reason why I, her father, am acting as Lord Courtenay’s second. Can he have a more suitable one?”
“Your daughter’s honour was never at hazard,” said Pauline haughtily, rising to her full stature and facing her father. “Do you think that I would ever consent to become the Czar’s mistress? You doubt my word, I see.”
Taking from her bosom a small scroll of parchment, she unfolded it, and held it before the eyes of the Marquis.
“Perhaps this will convince you. Here you have the reason why I have consorted so much with Alexander.”
The Marquis took the scroll in both hands, which trembled with suppressed agitation. Though there was not much writing on the scroll he had to read it several times before he could grasp its meaning. And when at last its meaning was grasped, his face wore a ghastly smile, the half-believing, half-sceptical smile of the pauper, when suddenly told that he is heir to stores of gold.
“You see what a traitress I have been to your diplomatic policy? But you forgive me, mon père; is it not so? You give up Bonaparte from this day henceforth. The Bourbons must be your friends now as they once were.”
“Can this be true?” murmured the Marquis hoarsely, lifting his eyes from the document to his daughter’s face.
“There is the signature. You have seen it many a time, and should know whether it is genuine.”
Bewildered, the Marquis sank upon a sofa. A new feeling stole over him as he contemplated his beautiful daughter—a feeling of admiration bordering upon awe.
“Then,” said he, “who on earth is the lady whom Lord Courtenay met at the masquerade?”
“Did you say that Lord Courtenay has been here?”
“Yes.”
“In this room?”
“Nowhere else.”
“And didn’t notice that?” said Pauline, pointing to a lady’s portrait hanging upon the wall.
“My God!” gasped the Marquis, more startled than ever. “Is that the lady?”
“None other. Now you see why this duel must not be.”