He paused, then extended a hand to each and spoke in the same whispering tones. “You, Golitzine and Salmoros, will confer with the two Generals. They have not the brains of either of you, but they are good machines. You will take measures to have the soldiery and police well posted in order to combat the revolution engineered by that villain, Zouroff, and his friends. Corsini, I daresay, has still a few more details to impart which will be useful. For the present, au revoir.”
Golitzine, after his Imperial Master’s departure, spoke to Salmoros.
“What do you think of it all, Baron? Is he sure of himself? Has he got an idea, of which he is so proud that he will not communicate it even to us?”
Salmoros shook his white wise head slowly to and fro while he spoke with his gentle, slightly ironical smile.
“My dear Golitzine, who can prophesy? Wisdom, we know, sometimes proceeds out of the mouths of babes and sucklings. Perhaps it may, in occasional moments, emanate from the brains of Kings and Emperors. In the meantime, you will take all necessary precautions. It would not be wise to trust too much to the Emperor’s inspiration, whatever it may be.”
CHAPTER XXVI
Corsini quitted the cabinet shortly after the departure of the Emperor. Alexander, full of his great idea, and it was proved later on that it was a very excellent and ingenious one, felt that he could leave all further details to the astute Golitzine, Salmoros, and the two Generals.
After the Czar had left, Golitzine had questioned the Italian closely as to certain items of the information which he had gathered at the villa the night before. Being satisfied as to these, he had intimated, of course in the most polite and diplomatic manner, that Corsini’s presence was no longer required. He was now going into certain practical matters with the two Generals, with regard to the disposition of the soldiery and police, of a strictly technical nature which would have no interest to a civilian.
Corsini took the hint at once. He had already learned that high politics meant strict business. These two great men would put up with your company, just so long as you were useful to them. As soon as you had fulfilled your part, you were dismissed, in order that they might turn to somebody else of equal importance.
But Golitzine, in spite of his lean and rather saturnine aspect, was a kind-hearted old fellow. He shook the young man warmly by the hand and whispered in his ear:
“Please do not accuse me of scant courtesy, if I seem to hurry you away, but the time is all too short for what I have to plan and arrange. Be assured that, so far as the Emperor is concerned, your fortune is made. I cannot take upon myself to predict the precise nature of your reward, but it will be a very substantial one. And of course your friend Ivan and his associate will be remembered, too.”
Corsini bowed gratefully. He already knew enough of Courts to assume that Golitzine himself would determine the nature and extent of those rewards. The Emperor would only speak with the voice of his Secretary, although as a matter of etiquette, he must always be regarded as the fountain of honour.
Golitzine went on in a still lower tone. “You have more time on your hands than we hard-working servants of the State have. We shall not meet again till to-night at the bal-masqué. You might use a few of your leisure moments in strolling round to my house and cheering up the Princess Nada. I prepared my wife for a possible visit. I am certain you will not be denied admittance.”
Corsini was very young, too young to have got over the youthful habit of blushing. A deep red settled on his countenance as he realised the nature and intention of the kindly Count’s suggestion.
Golitzine peered at him amiably through his spectacles. He liked that ingenuous blush: it betokened sincerity. Here was no callous young adventurer, simply a youth of integrity and good principles, quick-witted enough to take advantage of his opportunities.
“You are a favourite of fortune, my dear fellow, but you have had the good sense to see when she smiled on you. Strike while the iron is hot. Every right-thinking young woman is grateful to her preserver, especially when he is so good to look at as you are. You don’t want me to give you any further hint.”
Corsini, more embarrassed than ever, murmured a reply that was almost inarticulate, but one expressing gratitude for his Excellency’s suggestions. He made his adieux hastily, anxious to be out of the chamber where these experienced men seemed to read his very soul.
Salmoros detained him a second. “Not quite so quick, my young friend. You will dine with me to-morrow night at my hotel; here is the address.” He added with a humorous smile, “That is to say, if this devil of a Zouroff leaves any of us alive.”
Corsini left the Winter Palace. He saw the figures of his faithful bodyguard hovering in the distance, pledged to watch after his safety, to protect him from the evil designs of his relentless enemy, that traitor Prince whom he had outwitted.
He bent his steps in the direction of Golitzine’s house. He was anxious to see the Princess again, but perhaps, had he not been spurred by the Count’s hints, he might not have dared to intrude upon her so soon.
The kiss of last night, when their lips had met for the first time! She had kissed him warmly then, in the exaltation of grateful feelings for her rescue from her ruffianly brother.
That was last night. Would the morning bring reflection, prudence? Would she remember the difference between their stations – recollect that she was a Princess of the highest lineage, he an artist, a genius, but a man of no birth or connections?
As he walked slowly along, his thoughts travelled back to the time when he had been in such despair that he had come one night to the conclusion life was no longer worth living. He remembered he had put that question to his devoted little sister, Anita, and she had answered bravely that she would leave the decision to him.
And by one turn, as it seemed, of fortune’s wheel, all this was changed. He had in his pocket a letter received from Anita that morning, written from the house of the kind ladies in whose charge the Baron Salmoros had placed her when he despatched her brother on his mission to Russia.
A young Englishman had fallen in love with Anita; she had fallen in love with him. He had excellent prospects. One of the two benevolent ladies had enclosed a brief note, speaking in the highest terms of the young lover, who was also a protégé of the benevolent Salmoros. Anita had promised to become his wife, subject to her brother’s consent.
How far away it all seemed, that snowy night in Dean Street, when he had played in the gutter to earn a few coppers for food and lodging. Dear old Papa Péron, with his big heart, the genial Degraux, the powerful and astute Salmoros, who picked out intelligent instruments for his deeply laid schemes! All these figures were present to him as he strolled along.
So Anita was in love and would shortly be a happy wife. Well, if she made half as good a wife as a sister, her husband would be a fortunate man. He would ask a few details of Salmoros when he dined with him to-morrow night about this young suitor, but he had no doubt he would write Anita a warm letter of congratulation.
And for himself! Last night, the beautiful Nada, whom he had regarded as a star set high up in the firmament above him, had returned his kiss. Already he occupied an important post in the musical world. This morning, Golitzine had hinted at substantial rewards for his secret and important services. The Count had spoken of him as one of fortune’s favourites. The description did not seem to be misplaced.
His heart beat more confidently as he approached the Count’s house. After all, he was not so unworthy as he had once imagined himself to be. Nada was one of a long line. He was going to be the first of his – virile, ambitious, with the restless impulses of new blood. Was the difference between them so great after all?
He met the Countess in the hall. Full of the prejudices of her caste, she did not perhaps wholly approve of the visit; but she was a very obedient wife, and Golitzine, as it has been explained, had given her a hint that if Corsini called he was to be admitted at once to the presence of the young Princess.
Nada was reclining in an easy-chair, looking a little wan. To her enraptured lover, her slight pallor only added spirituality to her beauty.
He felt he must proceed very cautiously. She might wish to ignore that episode of the previous night, for which the strange circumstances could furnish a reasonable excuse.
He bowed low over her hand and raised it respectfully to his lips. “I am so pleased, Princess,” he began in rather hesitating tones, “to see that you are very little the worse for last night’s adventure.”
A faint colour suffused her cheeks; she withdrew her hand with a little pettish gesture. It was evident that she did not wish to ignore the incident of last night.
“Why are you so formal? I am not a Princess to you, but simply Nada, an unhappy girl whom you rescued and brought here at night, and whom you said you loved. Have you forgotten all this?”
“No, I have not forgotten,” was the fervent answer, “but I was not sure you might wish to remember. Last night, the circumstances were very unusual. Feelings of gratitude might have led you farther – ”
He paused, for the very good reason that Nada had placed her hand upon his lips.
“Do you know, you are talking very foolishly, Nello. But no, it is not altogether foolish. I can guess all that there is in your mind. You are such a perfect gentleman, so chivalrous where a woman is concerned. But you need doubt no longer. When I allowed you to kiss me last night and kissed you back, I gave you my heart once and for all time.”
He bent over her and kissed this time, not her hand, but her lips.
“And you will marry me, you will be my wife?” he asked in a voice that still expressed hesitation.
“Of course,” answered the Princess, with a pretty assumption of indignation. “Do you think I would suffer any man to kiss me unless I were sure he were going to be my husband?”
As he walked back to his hotel Corsini felt as if he were treading on air. How thankful he was to the kindly old Count for that hint, to strike while the iron was hot. Left to himself, he might have lost her for want of boldness. And now, Nada had promised to be his wife. Very shortly he and his dear little sister would both be happily married.
Later in the day, when the Emperor’s private cabinet had been cleared of his official counsellors, Alexander held an important conversation with a man as strong and stalwart as himself, closely resembling him in height and build. This man was an illegitimate son of one of the Romanoffs, and had ever devoted himself to his Majesty’s person and given a hundred proofs of his loyalty.
“Listen, my faithful Sergius,” said the autocrat, as he motioned him to a seat. “I have something to tell you that will startle you. You know that to-night we hold a bal-masqué at the Winter Palace. You will be there.”
The man Sergius nodded. On these more or less ceremonious occasions he was never far from his master’s side. He had no subtlety of intellect, he had little sense of diplomacy. It was impossible to advance him very far, to make him into even the semblance of a statesman, but he worshipped his Emperor and relative with a canine fidelity. He was a magnificent watch-dog and would lay down his life for his master.
“There is a plot on foot, engineered by Prince Zouroff and others, to assassinate me to-night in the ball-room of the Winter Palace.”
Sergius recoiled in horror. “But where are your guards, your police? What are Golitzine, Beilski, and Burovkin doing?” he cried in amazement. He started from his chair, ever a man of action. “Let me go round to the Zouroff Palace at once, get hold of this ruffian and choke the life out of him. You can then punish me for a brief space and then give me a free pardon – extenuating circumstances, or something of that sort.”
Alexander smiled kindly. Sergius, the man of proved loyalty, spoke, as usual, from his full heart. But, as ever, he lacked discretion.
“A most excellent idea, my good old friend and cousin, but in this century we cannot proceed on strictly mediæval lines. Besides, we want to take them, so to speak, red-handed. Golitzine is working admirably. So are Burovkin and Beilski; they will see to the soldiers and the police. They wanted to arrange my part in the affair – I know what they would have proposed, that I should absent myself – I determined to take the matter in hand personally. If I am not there, and they already know how I purpose to be dressed, they will not carry out their plot; they will postpone it, and we shall still be hanging on the tenterhooks of suspense, wondering when the blow will fall. Let it fall to-night, as they have planned, and let them be taken red-handed. That is my policy.”
Sergius stared at his master with a puzzled expression. His slow brain could not follow the Emperor’s explanation. Certainly, it would be very easy for him to go round to the Zouroff Palace and strangle its master; half a dozen others, if necessary. This was surely the most certain way to his soldier-like and practical mind.
“Sergius, my good friend, this affair wants a little diplomacy, which you and I will carry out between us. I shall acquaint Golitzine and the others with it, say, an hour before the reception begins. They think they have the monopoly of brains, that their Emperor must always think the thoughts they put into his head, always speak the words they prepare for him. Well, I am going to show them that sometimes I can act upon my own initiative. I have prepared a little stratagem, in which I invite your co-operation. I will explain it to you.”
He unfolded his scheme to the puzzled and interested Sergius. The blunt soldier rose up when the Emperor had finished, and smiled delightedly.
“Excellent, most excellent, Sire. You can rely upon me; you may be sure I shall not fail to play my part.”
At midnight the vast saloons of the Winter Palace were thronged with a happy, joyous crowd. Zouroff was there, in a disguise that he thought nobody could penetrate. The other seven leaders were there also, safe as they thought from recognition.
Corsini was there, having come on from the Opera. And the young Princess had come also, with the Countess Golitzine. At first she had protested. She wished to see the Emperor triumph, as she was assured he would; but the Emperor’s triumph would mean the ruin of her brother. Basely as he had treated her, she was reluctant to assist at the spectacle of his degradation.
But curiosity prevailed, the natural curiosity of being in at the finish of things. And besides, the Countess had told her that she would give to Corsini a description of her costume, and obtain from him one of his, so that they could easily recognise each other. In the end, she went.
The commanding figure of the Emperor, clothed in his mask and blue domino, moved about amongst his guests. There was no mistaking that Imperial presence. One man, in particular, was watching intently, following every motion.
Corsini had at last found out his sweetheart. They were conversing together in low whispers, when suddenly there rose from a hundred throats the shout of – “Treason! Treason!”
They turned their startled gaze towards the end of the room, in time to see the Emperor’s huge form sink slowly to the floor. A small man darted from his side, buried himself amid the crowd and made hastily towards the nearest door, concealing in his garments the dagger with which he had inflicted the blow.
He found the door guarded by three stalwart men, who seized him at once and forbade egress. They were members of Beilski’s police.
At the same instant the General himself tore off his mask, and cried out in stentorian tones, “Unmask, everybody. The doors are guarded. None can pass through till we are satisfied of their innocence. We know the names of all the traitors. At yonder door my men have got the assassin.”
Slowly they all unmasked, Zouroff amongst the rest. He knew now that he had been foiled by somebody, that his ambitions were quenched for ever. Siberia and the mines for him, as the lightest penalty.
To do him justice, he took his fate stoically. He folded his arms across his breast and cast a disdainful glance in the direction of the panic-stricken crowd.
Beilski, who had been standing close to that tall, commanding figure, went and touched him lightly on the shoulder.
“Get up, Sergius,” he whispered. “The first act of the tragedy is over.”
The apparently inanimate man rose slowly to his feet, threw off his mask and domino, disclosing a suit of chain mail beneath, which the dagger of the assassin had been unable to penetrate.
And then a great shout of loyalty burst forth from the assembly, as they recognised the situation. The Emperor had never been at the reception at all. This faithful left-handed relative of his, who so closely resembled his Imperial Master, had taken his place.
And then a side door opened and the Czar, in ordinary attire, came through and made his way to the top of the room. He was escorted by a strong bodyguard. It was just on the cards that one of these desperate men might make a second attempt, out of pure revenge.
But there was no fear of this. Beilski’s men had got all of the eight leading conspirators and several accomplices safely in their clutches.
It must be said for the Emperor that, on occasions like these, he could always assume the grand manner.
In a few well-chosen sentences he dismissed the assembly, with many regrets that their pleasure had been so abruptly terminated. There were matters of great import to be attended to, matters which would not brook delay.
Nada broke away from the Countess and rushed over to her brother. In spite of his cruel treatment of her, her heart at that moment bled for him.
“Oh, Boris, I know it is good-bye for ever. Why did you not listen to me when I pleaded with you to give up your dangerous schemes?”
But Zouroff hardly listened to her. He was thinking of that snowy, never-ending road to Siberia, along which he would trudge in chains, guarded by the merciless Cossacks.
“Don’t worry me,” he said in a dull voice. “All is finished. What is the use of looking back?”
After the assembly had dispersed the Emperor retired to his private cabinet. He intimated that, for the moment, he only wished to see Golitzine and Corsini. The others he would interview later.
Immediately the door was closed he turned to the young Italian.
“Signor Corsini, I have said before in your presence that the house of Romanoff is not ungrateful. I have great pleasure in bestowing upon you the title of Count; there will also be paid to you a considerable sum which you can invest at your discretion. The directorship of the Imperial Opera, if you wish to retain it, can be yours for life. With regard to your friend, Ivan, our promises have been already given. Golitzine will see to this.”
Corsini expressed his thanks in becoming language, and was about to withdraw, when the Count detained him.
“One moment, Corsini; I shall take upon myself to disclose to his Majesty a little idyll that has lately been going on in St. Petersburg – one which the Countess has confided to me. The Princess Nada has promised to be our young friend’s wife.”
The Emperor smiled graciously and extended his hand cordially.
“Congratulations, Signor. Nada will make a good and faithful wife. She takes after her mother; the father and son were both ruffians.”
CHAPTER XXVII
The night after these thrilling events, Corsini went to dine with Salmoros at his hotel.
The great financier always travelled in royal state on important occasions. He lodged himself in the same fashion. At the present moment he was occupying one of the most expensive suites in the hotel. Two secretaries and a valet formed his retinue. He had journeyed all the way by special trains.
Well, in a way he was a monarch himself – one of the half-dozen undisputed kings of finance, who are the power behind titular potentates and taken into their counsels before they resolve upon decided action.
There was no other guest. Salmoros wished to talk to this young man alone. Nothing appealed to the Baron like success. He was prepared to admit that luck was a frequent element in success, and Corsini had undoubtedly been lucky. A chance meeting with a discredited outlaw – so much he had gathered from Golitzine in a brief conversation to-day – had put the young Italian on the right track. All the same, luck had a knack of presenting itself to people born to achieve greatness. It presented itself to everybody, but the stupid people were too blind to see and take advantage of it.
He remembered a word of warning that his old friend and patron, that far-seeing statesman Lord Beaconsfield, had once addressed to him. “Never associate yourself with unlucky people, my dear Salmoros.” He had faithfully regarded that warning during his strenuous years of commercial and business intrigue.
The Baron had jestingly said yesterday that they would meet to-night if that devil of a Zouroff left anybody alive. Well, they were all alive, and the traitor Prince would soon be eating his heart out in Siberia. And yet it had been touch and go. It had been a thrilling day, and an ordinary man might have felt his nerves a little shaken when the strain was over.
But Salmoros was as calm as if the destinies of the Russian Empire, in which he took so keen an interest, had never hung for a moment in the balance. Perhaps he had experienced and survived too many catastrophes to feel very great emotion at another triumph, the last of a hundred or more.
Corsini, on his side, with the jangling nerves of youth, was very palpably agitated. His smile was forced, his face was twitching. He could not dismiss from his mind these great events that had so suddenly crowded into his life.
Nada, that peerless divinity whom he had adored from afar when there seemed no hope, who had suddenly descended, as it were, to earth and had promised to be his wife! Here was one intoxicating thought.
And then, last night the Emperor had called him into his private cabinet, invested him with the title of Count of the Russian Empire and promised him an even more substantial reward.
And yet he was the same man who, a short time ago, had been playing in the streets for coppers which his half-starved sister collected. But for the providential interference of dear old Papa Péron he might have been playing there still, or sought refuge in an untimely grave. Simply a turn of fortune’s wheel.
Salmoros noted his agitation, and for a long time, did not press him with any very direct conversation. He talked of music, of which he was a great connoisseur, and presently he found that this subject drew the young man out of his perturbed thoughts.
By the time the meal was finished, Corsini was almost his normal self. The animated discussions over different composers, in which each disputant defended his opinions warmly, had driven for a time into the background the personal events of the last few days.
“We shall never agree about Russia,” remarked the Baron at the end of this artistic conference. “Now, we have had quite a long argument and the subject is very absorbing to both of us. Let us talk of something a little nearer home. The Signor Corsini I sent out to Russia in the nature of a speculation is now Count Corsini, a member of the nobility of the Russian Empire. Have you reflected over these facts and to what extent they are going to influence your future?”
Nello answered candidly. “For the last few days, Baron, I seem to have been living in a world of dreams. I never sought adventure, but through you – no, I must not forget dear old Papa Péron, he was the origin of all this – adventure has come to me.”
At the mention of Péron’s name, Salmoros lifted his glass and spoke in a voice of emotion.
“To the memory of my dear old friend and comrade, who had a heart of gold. Ah, why did he choose to die in that miserable garret, when he knew I was so near? What misplaced pride!”
“He had the artistic temperament, Baron, but he was never a man of the world. He would give, but he blushed to take,” was Nello’s answer. “Well, you have asked me for my ideas as to the future. Candidly, I have not yet formulated any, except as regards in one direction. For one thing I would prefer not to remain in Russia.”
The Baron smiled his quiet and comprehending smile. “There I think I am with you. A charming place for a brief visit, but for a prolonged residence, certainly not.”
Corsini went on. “I love England and its free ways. Here there is too much intrigue. I propose, when certain things are settled, to return to England. The Emperor has kindly said that if I wish it the directorship of the Imperial Opera is mine for life. It is a fine post and I fully appreciate the compliment. But – ”
Salmoros interrupted him. “I quite understand. You would sooner play your violin at the Floral Hall in London than conduct the Imperial Opera in this city of St. Petersburg, honeycombed with spies, traitors, and actual or potential assassins?”
Nello nodded. It was very easy to explain to this wonderful old man, who seemed to know what you were going to say before the words were formed.
“Now confide in me,” said the Baron in his most confidential tones. “You dropped a rather significant phrase just now. You said you had not yet formulated your ideas, except in one particular direction. Will you tell me, or can I guess it?”
The young man blushed vividly. “I have been fortunate far beyond my deserts, sir. The Princess Nada Zouroff, whom I first met in London at the Russian Embassy, has been kind enough – ”
“Don’t be so formal, Nello,” said the Baron kindly, using his Christian name to put him at his ease. “You need not tell me any more. I had a long talk with Golitzine this afternoon. Of course he told me many things and amongst them was this item of news, that Nada is going to marry you.”
This wonderful old Salmoros knew everything, but how could he help it, when so many channels of information were open to him? Corsini’s answer was a still deeper blush.
“She will make you a good wife. Golitzine knows them well; he speaks in the highest terms of her and her mother. The father was a bully and a ruffian, the brother we know was a traitor, and will get his deserts.”
He raised his glass, bowing to the young man with an old-world courtesy.
“To the health of your fiancée, the future Countess Corsini. When do you propose to marry?”
“I cannot fix the exact date, Baron. Her mother, you may have heard, is very ill. Nada has only returned to the Palace to-day. It would not have been safe for her to do so while that scoundrel Boris was at large.”
Salmoros mused for a few moments before he spoke again. “So you will marry as soon as all the circumstances will permit. And I take it you will reside in England. What does the young Princess say to that?”
“Nada loves England,” was Corsini’s answer, “and after the events of last night Russia will not have very pleasant recollections for her or her mother.”
“True,” agreed the Baron. “I shall very much like you to spend part of your honeymoon with me at my place in Sussex, if it falls in with your arrangements.”
“I am sure we shall be delighted, sir,” cried Nello. He paused and added a little nervously: “But I hope you won’t want to send me on any more missions of this sort. If so, you must let me know the nature of the danger beforehand.”
Salmoros laughed good-humouredly. “No, my young friend, I will not play that sort of trick upon you a second time. Besides, being a Count and the husband of a very charming Princess, I doubt if I should find you so useful for my purposes. I will do my utmost to advance your artistic interests in England, instead. But remember, it is a promise; you will bring your wife to my house in Sussex, if not upon your honeymoon, at some time convenient to yourselves.”
Nello assured the benevolent old Baron that they would certainly accept his hospitality, and bade him good-night.
Outside he saw the four stalwart figures of his bodyguard waiting for him. Beilski had not relaxed his precautions. It was still possible that some fanatical and devoted adherent of Zouroff might resolve to avenge his defeated chief.
A burly, bearded man was walking up and down outside the door of the hotel. Corsini recognised him immediately – “Ivan the Cuckoo.”
The four men drew nearer, as they perceived the late outlaw was accosting him, but Corsini raised his hand and waved them back.
“I waited for you, Signor, to express my thanks to you who have so nobly fulfilled your part of the bargain,” said Ivan, speaking in low tones. “I was at the Count’s house an hour ago; he has promised me a most substantial sum, part of which will go to my good old comrade, Stepan. After all, Signor, if we must be truthful, it was he who really saved the Emperor.”
“I quite agree,” answered Corsini. Yes, Stepan had expressed his suspicions to Ivan, and Ivan’s quick wit had developed the plan of campaign, which the Italian had skilfully conducted. The honours seemed a little unequally distributed. Corsini was a Count, with a handsome sum of money. Ivan was to have also a substantial pecuniary reward, and Stepan was to have some share of what Ivan received. Still, it was no use pondering over these caprices of fortune.
“Signor,” went on the late outlaw, “I am sick of Russia. As soon as I get my money, and the Count promises it immediately, I shall leave this country. I am tired of it. I shall go to England – I hear it is a land of the free – set up a business there, and turn myself into an honest man.”
Corsini shook him by the hand. “Bravo, Ivan. Yes, by all means go to England. It is, as you say, a land of the free. I shall go back there as soon as I can. I am not over-fond of Russia.”