Читать книгу When I Was Czar - Arthur W. Marchmont - Страница 8

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HOW long I stood there, hesitating and embarrassed, while Helga was holding the door open for me in that queenly pose of splendid indignation, I do not know, but realizing at last that I could not go and leave her to execute her threat, I turned back rather sheepishly and sat down again.

“You have put the thing on such a different and so unexpected a footing that we had better wait at least until you are calmer,” I said.

But she was in the mood to push her triumph to the utmost.

“I shall never be calm on this subject. It is for you to say at once, monsieur, whether you decide to go.”

“I don’t see any such necessity,” I answered curtly.

It is difficult to describe my condition of mind. The thing was really nothing to me. Whether Russia went to war with twenty other countries would not have troubled me. I had no concern whether her diplomatists had made fools of themselves, and that Helga should have them by the throat rather pleased than angered me. And yet I was as irritable as a millionaire when his digestion goes wrong. I suppose I was in a temper at having been beaten. No one cares to look small in the eyes of a woman he admires as I admired her. And small I certainly felt and must have looked.

Although I avoided her eyes, she stood holding the door still open, and looking at me as if to read my thoughts.

“Are you going, monsieur?” she asked, after a long pause.

“No, I’m not—yet.” I spoke bluntly, almost rudely; and with a shrug and a lift of the eyebrows, she left the door and crossed the room to her former place.

“M. Boreski, will you see that the carriage is sent back to the stable, and is kept in readiness for M. Denver?”

Boreski understood her, and going out shut the door carefully behind him.

I made no attempt to speak, but sat staring moodily down on the ground and trying to think; and Helga on her side was resolutely silent. Several minutes passed in this dead silence until it got on my nerves. She forced me to break it.

“Well, what is it you want?” I asked, most ungraciously.

The way she met me was characteristic. She laughed softly and sweetly, and looked across at me.

“My mood has passed, monsieur,” she said, quoting my words. “Shall we wait for yours to pass also? Permit me?” and she rose and offered me a cigarette from a dainty gold case.

“I would rather smoke something stronger, with your leave.” I took out a cigar, and she lighted a cigarette; and another long silence fell between us. She broke it this time.

“You have made me your enemy, and I have beaten you so far; but you will not find me ungenerous.”

“Generous or ungenerous, I don’t see any way out of the tangle. I won’t listen to any more of your story; and you can’t use those papers. I don’t know what it is you want, and if I did, it would be no use, for I could not grant it. And there’s the deadlock.”

“Is it, after all, necessary that we should be enemies?”

“Apparently it is. There are certain things which I cannot tell you from my side, and certain others I will not hear from you. It is your own fault.” This was very un-Imperial talk, but I was sick of the whole Emperor business, and still suffering from mortification.

The change in my manner appeared to strike her, for she looked at me sharply and replied as if with surprise—

“Have I ventured to ask you for your confidence about yourself, monsieur?”

“I did not mean to imply that you had. There is one thing,” I added, as an idea occurred to me. “Shall I send for Prince Kalkov?”

“Under no circumstances shall he cross my door,” she answered with prompt and unmistakable resolution.

“Will you postpone dealing with those papers then until I have had an opportunity of consulting him? That may prove a solution.”

“I know Prince Kalkov too well. Within five minutes of your leaving my house those papers will be on their way to the destination I have indicated.”

“Then in Heaven’s name what are we to do?”

“If you will listen to my story you will see that Prince Kalkov is the man I accuse.”

“But there are insuperable reasons why I cannot and will not listen.”

“Then it is for you to find the solution.”

“I can probably do that if I can communicate with him.”

“Shall I order the carriage again?”

Checkmate again, and I tossed up my hands in hopeless perplexity.

She was obviously resolved that I should hear all she had to say, and I was equally determined, knowing the worse than futility of the thing, not to listen to her; and there we sat, in a contest of wills and wits, until the absurd side of the position began to appeal to me.

“It seems to me you are resolved to make me a prisoner.”

“On the contrary, monsieur, the door is open, and a carriage ready at your instant command. If you remain, it is by your own desire, and of your own free will.”

“Free will, when you place an impossible barrier in the way of my going? So long as I remain here you will not part with those papers?”

“So long as the hope remains that you will hear me and do me justice.”

“The thing is so preposterous.”

“The alternative is for you to choose.”

It was then that I began to contemplate seriously the course of remaining in the house for the night. I should at least gain time; and time might bring a solution.

“It is a dainty prison, but still a prison, although the bars are invisible, and the gaoler yourself. You realize the responsibility of what you are doing?”

“I am prepared to face any responsibility, and you would be my most honoured guest.”

She spoke very seriously, but there was a light in her eyes that told not only of triumph, but of laughter scarcely restrained. For all the seriousness behind the position, she saw the humour of it and enjoyed it. And so in truth did I; for nothing on earth would have pleased me better than to be in her company for any number of days, if I could only have divested myself of my confounded Imperial character. If she could have read my thoughts, what would her own have been!

I had to keep up the farce of assumed disinclination, however, and was meditating the best line to take when an interruption came.

The door was opened, and a servant announced—“M. Paul Drexel.”

A flush of extreme annoyance mounted to Helga’s face at the entrance of the new-comer, who was the reverse of a pleasant-looking man. He was about forty years of age; short, broad-shouldered, inclined to corpulence, awkward and ungainly in figure. His features were coarse and Jewish in character; he had beady, twinkling, stealthy eyes, and his manner suggested a mixture of truculence and cunning.

Altogether he looked entirely out of place in Helga’s drawing-room, and I wondered what on earth could have brought him there, a wonderment which became genuine astonishment when he advanced with as much confidence as if he were the master of the house, and said in Russian—

“Good-evening, Helga. You see I have come after all. Is this the company you said would engage you?” He turned to me with a questioning, half suspicious, and rather insolent glance.

“If I had wished you to come I should have asked you,” she replied, repressing her ill-humour. “Your visit is ill-timed.”

I watched her very closely and detected something very much akin to repugnance in her glance.

“Possibly;” he laughed shortly. “But as I am here, introduce me.”

There was a moment’s indecision before she answered.

“This gentleman is an American, and does not speak Russian.”

“American, is he? Well, I suppose I have a right to know the friends of my——”

This time she broke in quickly and interrupted him.

“I have already told you your visit is unwelcome.”

“I heard you,” he returned so rudely that I could have kicked him. “What language does he speak?”

“He understands Russian and speaks French.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I speak French easily enough;” the second part of the sentence was in French. “Good-evening, monsieur,” he said to me, “I am glad to meet you. Any friends of my——”

“M. Denver, this is M. Paul Drexel.”

He started at this second interruption, and looked at her half angrily.

“Is that all you wish to say? Why?” Their eyes met for a moment, and he seemed to have the best of it, for Helga added—

“I am engaged to marry M. Drexel, monsieur.” He smiled and rubbed his fat hands over his little triumph, and was so pleased with himself that my start of amazement escaped him.

“And I am of course pleased to know Helga’s friends.” He threw himself into a chair and continued to rub his podgy hands. If I had thought him a cad before, he was now positively hateful, and his vulgar assurance sickened me.

He took out a cigar, and as he turned away to light it I saw Helga wince, bite her lip, and clench her hands tightly. I could see that she was suffering; but this only added to my perplexity.

“So you are an American, M. Denver. A fine country yours; I was never there, but shall go some day.”

“I am sure America will appreciate the honour,” I said blandly. It was no concern of mine to conciliate the little cad; but he only chuckled.

“Good, very good. I suppose it did sound as if I thought I should be honouring the place. But I am content with Russia;” and he settled himself in his luxurious seat as if he were indeed very content. “I shall enjoy a talk with you about your American Government some day, M. Denver.”

I made no response to this approach; but it made no difference to him; no inroad upon the stockade of his self-complacency. He babbled on with remarks of the kind, and then let fall a question which seemed to have something behind it.

“I suppose you have lived much in America?” and his beady black eyes shot a swift sly glance at me.

“Even Americans are at home sometimes,” I replied.

“Good again, good again,” he laughed. “You are great travellers, globe-trotters, eh? And you yourself speak French so well; quite as well as most Russians indeed; and you understand Russian too, Helga tells me. Do many of your countrymen understand Russian?” and again the little sharp eyes came at me.

“My father was in the diplomatic service, M. Drexel, and as a child I was educated in Russia, Germany and France, and thus learnt all three languages.”

Helga gave me a look of thanks which the man intercepted; and he stared at her, a cunning smile on his flabby face.

“Quite a linguist, you see, Helga,” he said, and then assuming a casual tone—“By the way, the friend you were expecting did not come after all?” The tone did not deceive me. I saw that he knew who I was supposed to be, and that all this had merely been intentional monkeying.

Helga saw it as well, and answered calmly—

“M. Denver is the only friend I was expecting to-night.”

“Then why try to fool me? Did you think I should not recognize—M. Denver? Haven’t I a right——”

“No;” anger and resolution in the sharp monosyllable.

“Don’t you consider me interested in your plans?”

“You will be glad to finish your cigar with M. Boreski, M. Drexel.”

“No, thank you; I came to see you. I have nothing to say to Boreski to-night—unless, of course——” He left the sentence unfinished except for a look.

“Unless what, M. Drexel?” The anger she had carefully suppressed until now was getting the upper hand of her, and he saw it.

“Unless you drive me to it, I mean;” this doggedly.

“You are at liberty to say what you please to M. Boreski—or to any one else.”

“You are providing me with an excellent opportunity,” he retorted, beginning to get angry in his turn, and glancing at me.

“Use it. You may never have a better.” The answer was crisp and supercilious—almost contemptuous.

A quarrel between an engaged couple must always be embarrassing for a third party, so I cut in—

“Pardon me, mademoiselle, may I withdraw?”

“Where?” she asked, with a bright, quick, challenging smile.

“I am in your hands,” I said, smiling back.

“We will have M. Boreski in,” and she rang the bell.

The little man fidgetted uncomfortably in his chair while we waited for the servant and then for Boreski. When he came Helga murmured an excuse and left the room.

For an instant the thought that some sinister move was intended flashed upon my mind, bred, no doubt, by my distrust of this unctuous little cad; but my trust in Helga dispelled it. I felt sure of her.

The two men eyed one another a moment, and it was easy to see that there was little love lost between them.

“Mademoiselle Helga is on stilts again to-night,” said Drexel.

“You should not have come—unasked.”

“Why am I kept out of this?” The question asked angrily.

“Because you have no part in it and are not wanted,” returned Boreski deliberately.

“Nonsense. I shall do as I like. When you are tired of me you only have to say so. You know the alternative.”

“I beg to tender you an unqualified apology, M. Denver, for M. Drexel’s presence,” said Boreski to me with his courtier-like air. “He has forced himself here.”

“You should have told me then who your mysterious visitor was, instead of leaving me to fish it out for myself.”

“I accept your apology, M. Boreski,” I said, in my grand manner.

The little man flushed angrily and got up.

“Some of us may live to be sorry for this night’s work,” he said, with an unmistakable threat. It was clear that he held his position in the house by virtue of what he could threaten.

“I am sorry for it already,” declared Boreski quietly. He had certainly the knack of putting a lot of sting into words which in themselves were innocent enough. “You should not have come, I repeat.”

“I shall do as I like. I am not to be bullied or sneered at.”

“You will drive me to do one day as I like, M. Drexel,” said Boreski in his even suave tone; “and make me realize that there are less unpleasant things than your—your alternatives. As you ought not to have come, you had better go.”

At this moment, to my relief, a servant entered and said to me—

“Your apartments are prepared, monsieur.”

Both men started at this, and both displayed astonishment, Drexel giving vent to a laugh.

“I bid you good-evening, M. Boreski,” I said; and then to Drexel: “Should I meet you or hear of you again, monsieur, this evening’s experience will be in my memory;” and turning on my heel, I left the room.

As the door closed I heard Drexel’s voice:

“My God! you play for high stakes, Boreski.”

Helga was outside, and also caught the words.

“How I hate him!” she exclaimed vehemently, her eyes flashing, and her face set and strained.

“Then you have other enemies—beside me?” I said, with a smile.

The hard look passed away as she let her eyes rest on mine.

“You will not always be my enemy, I hope, M. American.”

“I could never be anything but your friend—even prisoner as I am.”

“Shall I order your carriage, monsieur?” with smiling audacious banter. “My guest has but to express his wishes here; my whole household is at his command.”

“You know why I cannot go. I am afraid of the other—Helga.” I paused before her name, and she flushed when I used it.

“All Helga could be such a friend, if you would let her.”

“Well, she has a very willing captive—how willing, you do not seem to realize.”

She lowered her eyes and stood with bent head for a moment in silence. Then she lifted it and looked frankly into my face.

“I should not have thought, now that I have seen you, that you could be so hard.”

“Should I not rather say that to you? It is I who am the conquered, you the conqueror. And you laid claim to generosity.”

“Am I not generous?”

“No; you take all—all.”

“I don’t understand you,” she said, shrinking a little from my look.

“When the time comes you will.”

“And when will it come?” The question was eager.

“I am almost afraid to think,” I answered softly, out of my inmost thoughts.

“The sooner the better. The sooner the better,” she cried. “You mystify me.”

“And am I not mystified?” I glanced at the room where M. Drexel sat.

“Why can we not both speak plainly then?”

“We will see what to-morrow brings,” I said, and held out my hand.

She made as if to carry it to her lips.

“I am really loyal,” she murmured.

“It is I who am the subject to-night. I am only an American.” And as I spoke I captured her hand and pressed my lips to it. “It is you, I say, who are conqueror.”

I went up the broad stairway, leaving her looking after me, smiling, and I thought triumphant; and I hoped, pleased.