CHAPTER I
It was the 27th of January, the Kaiser's birthday, and thereception-rooms of the German Embassy, on the Nevski Prospekt,overlooking the snow-covered quays and ice-bound waters of the Neva,were filled with as brilliant a throng as could have been foundbetween the Ourals and the English Channel.
It has been said that Petersburg in the winter season contains morebeautiful women than any other capital in Europe; and certainly thefair guests of His Excellency the German Ambassador to the Court ofthe White Czar went far towards proving the truth of the saying. Thedresses were as ideal as they were indescribable, and the jewels whichblazed round the softly moulded throats and on the fair white breasts,and gleamed on dainty coiffures of every hue, from ebony black to thepurest flaxen, would have been bad to match even among the treasuresof Oriental princes.
The men, too, were splendid in every variety of uniform, from thegold-laced broadcloth of Diplomacy to the white and gold of theImperial Guard. Not a man was present whose left breast was notglittering with stars and medals, and, in most cases, crossed with theribbon of some distinguished Order.
The windless, frosty air outside was still vocal with the jingling ofthe sleigh-bells as the vehicles sped swiftly and noiselessly up tothe open doors, for it was only a little after ten, and all the guestshad not yet arrived. Precisely at half-past a sleigh drawn by threeperfectly black Orloff horses swept into the courtyard, and a fewminutes later the major-domo passed through the open folding-doors andsaid, in loud but well-trained tones:
"His Highness the Prince de Conde, Duc de Montpensier! Mademoiselle laMarquise de Montpensier!"
At the same moment two lacqueys held aside the heavy curtains whichhung on the inside of the doorway, and the latest arrivals entered.
The announcement of the once most noble names in Europe instantlyhushed the hum of conversation, and all eyes were turned towards thedoorway.
They saw a tall, straight, well-set-up man of about fifty, with darkmoustache and imperial, and iron-grey hair still thick and strong. Asingle glance at his features showed that they bore the indeliblestamp of the old Bourbon race. The high, somewhat narrow, forehead wascontinued in a straight line to the end of the long thin nose. Thesomewhat high cheek-bones, the delicate ears, the thin, sensitivenostrils, and the strong, slightly protruding chin, might havebelonged to the Grande Monarque himself.
He was in ordinary court dress, the broad red ribbon of the Order ofSt Vladimir crossed his breast, the collar and jewel of the GoldenFleece hung from his neck, and the stars of half-a-dozen other Ordersglittered on the left breast of his coat; but, though he bore thegreatest name in France, there was not a French order among them, forLouis Xavier de Conde was a voluntary exile from the land over whichhis ancestors had once ruled so splendidly and so ruinously.
For three generations his branch of the great family had refused torecognise any ruler in France, from the First Consul to the Presidentof the Third Republic. In his eyes they were one and all usurpers andplebeian upstarts, who ruled only by the suffrages of an ignorant anddeluded mob. In short, his creed and the rule of his daily life werehatred and contempt of the French democracy. On this subject he wasalmost a fanatic, and in days soon to come this fanaticism of his wasdestined to influence events, of which only three people in all thatcrowded assembly were even dreaming.
The girl at his side--for she was not yet twenty-one--might well havebeen taken for a twentieth-century replica of Marie Antoinette, and tosay that, is to say that among all the beautiful and stately women inthat brilliant concourse, none were quite so beautiful and stately asAdelaide de Conde, Marquise de Montpensier.
Of all the hundred eyes which were turned upon this peerless daughterof the line of St Louis, the most eager were those of asplendidly-built young fellow of about twenty-eight, dressed in theblue and white uniform of the Uhlan regiment of the German army.Captain Victor Fargeau, military attache to the German Embassy inPetersburg, was perhaps the handsomest, and, at the same time,manliest-looking man in all that company of soldiers and diplomats. Atleast, so certainly thought Adelaide de Conde, as she saw his darkblue eyes light up with a swift gleam of admiration, and the bronze onhis cheeks grow deeper as the quick blood flushed beneath it.
It was a strange bond that united the daughter of the Bourbons withthe soldier and subject of the German Kaiser, and yet it must havebeen a close one. For, after the first formal presentations were over,her eyes sent a quick signal to his, which brought him instantly toher side, and when their hands met the clasp was closer, and lastedjust a moment longer than mere acquaintance or even friendship wouldhave warranted.
"Can you tell me, Captain, whether the gentleman who calls himself theFrench Ambassador has honoured us with his presence to-night?" saidthe Prince, as he shook hands with the young soldier.
"No, Prince, he has not," he replied. "I hear that, almost at the lastmoment, he sent an attache with his regrets and excuses. Of course, asyou know, there is a little friction between the Governments just now,and naturally, too, he would know that Your Highness and Mam'selle laMarquise would honour us with your presence--so, on the whole, Isuppose he thought it more convenient to discover some importantdiplomatic matter which would deprive him of the pleasure of joiningus."
"Ah," said the Marquise, looking up at him with a glance and a smilethat set his pulses jumping, "then perhaps Sophie Valdemar was rightwhen she told me this afternoon that His Excellency had really a goodexcuse for not coming--an interview with Count Lansdorf, andafterwards with no less a personage than the Little Father himself!And, you know, Sophie knows everything."
"Ah yes," said the Prince; "I had forgotten that. You told me of it. Ishould not wonder if the subject of their conversation were notunconnected with an increase of the French fleet in Chinese waters.And then Morocco is----"
"Chut, papa!" said the Marquise, in a low tone, "we must not talkpolitics here. In Petersburg ceilings have eyes and walls have ears."
"That is true," laughed Victor; "not even Embassies here are neutralground."
At this moment a lacquey approached and bowed to Captain Fargeau.
"Pardon me a moment," he said to his companions; "I am wanted forsomething, and I can see a good many envious eyes looking this way.Ah, there goes the music! They will be dancing presently, and therewill be many candidates for Mam'selle's hand. But you will keep me awaltz or two, won't you? and may I hope also for supper?"
"My dear Victor," she replied, with a bewildering smile, "have I notalready told you that you may hope for everything? Meanwhile, _aurevoir_! When you have done your business you will find us in thesalon."
As he moved away, the curtains were again drawn aside, and themajor-domo announced:
"His Excellency Count Valdemar! The Countess Sophie Valdemar!"
The Count was a big, strongly-built man in diplomatic uniform. Hisface was of the higher Russian type, and heavily bearded. Hisdaughter, the Countess Sophie, was a strange contrast to him, slightand fair, with perfectly cut features, almost Grecian in theirregularity, golden-bronze hair, dark, straight eyebrows, and big,wide-set, pansy-blue eyes. The only Russian trait that she possessedwas her mouth--full-lipped and sensuous, almost sensular, in fact; andyet it was small enough, and the lips were so daintily shaped that itadded to, rather than detracted from her beauty.
They were lips whose kisses had lured more than one bearer of awell-known name to destruction. Some they had sent to the scaffold,and others were still dreaming of their fatal sweetness in prison orin hopeless exile; for Sophie Valdemar, daughter of Count LeoValdemar, Chief of the Third Section of the Ministry of the Interior,had been trained up from girlhood by her father in every art ofintrigue, until even he was fully justified in calling her the mostskilful diplomatic detective in Europe.
To her friends and acquaintances she was just a charming andbrilliantly-accomplished girl of nineteen, who had reigned asundisputed Queen of Beauty in Moscow and Petersburg until Adelaide deConde had come from Vienna with her father
, and, by some mysteriousmeans, unknown even to her, had been received into instant favour atCourt, and in the most exclusive circles in the most exclusive city inthe world. In fact, the enigma which it was the present object of herlife to solve was how this could be possible--granted the tacitalliance between the Russian Empire and the French Republic, and thePrince's openly expressed contempt for all modern things French andRepublican. There were, indeed, only three people in Europe who couldhave solved that riddle, and she was not one of them.
As she entered she saw Victor coming towards her. Instantly her eyesbrightened, and the faintest of flushes showed through the pallor ofher silken skin. He stopped for a moment to greet them, but his claspon her hand was nothing more than the formal pressure which friendshipexpects, and she looked in vain for any gleam in his eyes answeringthat in her own.
When he had passed in towards the door she flung a swift glance roundthe room, and as the soft pansy eyes rested on the exquisite shape andlovely face of Adelaide de Conde they seemed to harden and blacken forjust the fraction of a second. The next moment she and her father weregreeting the Prince and the Marquise with a cordiality that was onlytempered by the almost indefinable reserve which the place and thesituation made indispensable.
"My dear Marquise," she said, in that soft, pure French which, outsideFrance, is only heard in Russia, "if possible, you have excelledyourself to-night; you are a perfect vision----"
"My dear Sophie," laughed the Marquise, "what is the matter? You seemas formal as you wish to be flattering; but really, if it is a matterof compliments, it is not you, but I who should be paying them."
"Quite a waste of time, my dear children," laughed the Count, gruffly."Imagine you two paying each other compliments when there are a coupleof hundred men here with thousands of them crowding up to their lips.Still, Prince," he went on, "it is better so than rivalry, for rivalbeauty has always worked more harm in the world than rival ambitions."
"There can be no question of rivalry, my dear Count," replied thePrince. "Why should the Evening envy the Morning, or the Lily bejealous of the Rose?"
"Put like a Frenchman and a statesman, Prince: that was said as onlyone of the old regime could say it," said Sophie, with a littlebackward movement of her head. "How is it that the men of thisgeneration never say things like that--or, if they try to, bungle overit."
"Perhaps they are too busy to revive the lost art of politeness,"laughed Adelaide. "But come, papa; they are playing a lovely waltz,and I am dying for a dance, and so is Sophie, I daresay."
"And, by their looks, many of these young men are dying of the samecomplaint; so suppose we go into the salon," said the Prince, offeringhis arm to Sophie.
It was nearly half-an-hour before Victor found Adelaide disengaged inthe ball-room. The first waltz that she had saved for him was justbeginning, and, as he slipped his arm round her waist, he whisperedunder cover of the music:
"If you please, we will just take a couple of turns, and then you willgive me a few precious minutes of your company in the winter garden."
She glanced up swiftly at him with a look of keen inquiry, andwhispered in reply:
"Of course, my Victor, if you wish it; especially as it is getting alittle warm here--and no doubt you have something more interesting forme than dancing."
"I think you will find it so," he said, as they glided away into theshining, smoothly-swirling throng which filled the great salon.
After two or three turns they stopped at the curtained entrance of thevast conservatory, whose tropical trees and flowers and warm scentedair formed a delicious contrast to the cold, black, Russian winter'snight. Almost at the same moment Sophie Valdemar said to her partner,a smart young officer of the Imperial Guard:
"I think that will do for the present, if you don't mind; I don't feelvery vigorous to-night, somehow: suppose you find me a seat in thegarden, and then go and tell one of the men to bring me an ice."
They stopped just as Victor and Adelaide passed through the curtains.They followed a couple of yards behind them, and Sophie quickened herstep a little, her teeth came together with a little snap, and hereyes darkened again as she saw Adelaide look up at her companion andheard her say softly:
"Well, what is your news--for I am sure you have some?"
"Yes, I have," he replied; "and the greatest of good news; you knowfrom whom?"
"Ah," said Adelaide, with a little catch in her voice, "from him; andhas he----"
"Succeeded? Yes; and to the fullest of his expectations. He goes toParis to-morrow, and then----"
The rest of the sentence was lost to Sophie as they turned away intothe garden.
Her companion found her a seat under a tree-fern, and left her leaningback in her long-cushioned chair of Russian wicker, looking across thewinter garden, through the palms and ferns, at Victor and Adelaide, asthey moved along, obviously looking for a secluded corner. Duringthose few moments her whole nature had, for the time being, completelychanged. The jealous, passionate woman had vanished, and in her placeremained the cold, clear-headed, highly-trained intriguer, withincarnate and unemotional intellect, thinking swiftly and logically,trying to find some meaning in the words that she had just heard,words which, if she had only known their import, she would have foundpregnant with the fate of Europe.
"I wonder who has succeeded beyond his best expectations? Someoneclosely connected with both of them, of course! And Paris--why shouldhis success take him to Paris? Victor Fargeau, Alsatian though he is,is one of the most brilliant of the younger generation of Germanofficers, a favourite of the Emperor, a member of the Staff, andattache here in Petersburg. And she, my dear friend and enemy, is aBourbon, an aristocrat of the first water, the daughter of an openenemy of our very good and convenient ally the French Republic.Paris--he who has succeeded is going to Paris. Well, I would give agood deal to know who he is and why he is going to Paris."