The Intriguers

Of course he was still master enough of himself not to reveal all he knew, or thought he knew.

The Princess drew herself up haughtily. It was not the first time she had encountered her brother in this mood.

“I don’t think you know what you are talking about, Boris; I can see your condition very plainly. Signor Corsini is not a strolling player – that description applies to the destitute members of the theatrical profession. Corsini is a musician, an artist, and the Director of the Imperial Opera. Think of some other expression that will vent your rage and spite, but don’t call him ‘a strolling player.’”

“But whatever he is, you love him,” thundered the Prince, now fairly consumed with rage.

The young Princess kept her temper, her tone was as cutting as before.

“You insult me with these questions,” she said calmly. “Return to me when you are sober and I may perhaps be able to talk with you, reason with you.” She was thinking of a few hints dropped by General Beilski on his brief visit to her.

“And if I do not choose to leave at your bidding,” retorted the Prince, in a jeering tone. “Suppose I insist upon remaining and finishing our conversation!”

“In that case I shall leave the Palace for good.” And suddenly her woman’s strength gave way, opposed to that of this resolute ruffian and bully. “If our dear mother were here, you would not dare to stay in this room a moment longer. You take advantage of my weakness,” she cried tearfully.

“Our dear mother,” mimicked Zouroff, in mocking accents. “You and your mother have always held together against me; you always held against my dear father in the old days.”

“Of whom you are a worthy son,” flashed the Princess, with an angry gesture. She had poignant memories of those old days, when her mother had suffered untold indignities at the hands of Prince Zouroff the elder, indignities which had bitten into the souls of both wife and daughter. Boris was the only member of the family who reverenced the name of his father, for the very simple reason that he partook of his worst qualities.

And then a softer mood came to her. After all, he was her brother, son of the same kind, gentle mother. She went across to him and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“Be reasonable, Boris, and prudent. I can guess more than you think. I am sure you are playing a very dangerous game. Be certain on your side that your opponents are not stronger than you.”

But Zouroff was in no mood to listen to the tender expostulations of a woman, especially a woman whom he despised as much as his sister, this frail girl who took after her gentle mother, who had in her none of the iron qualities of his brutal father.

He flung her aside, and spoke in a grating voice.

“You will leave the Palace, will you? Yes, you shall, but when and how I choose. There is your own little comfortable Castle of Tchernoff. Perhaps if I sent you there, it might cool your hot blood.”

The Princess flamed up. “You dare not think of such a thing. Brute as you are, you would not dare to do it.”

“We shall see. Remember I am still your legal guardian,” cried the Prince, with a mocking laugh, as he left the room.

The interview had sobered him. All that was now working in his mind was, first, a scheme of revenge upon La Belle Quéro; second, a milder scheme of revenge against his sister.

An hour later Peter, the valet, reported himself to General Beilski and obtained his free pardon by a full confession. And the General, waiting for further developments, stayed his hand for the moment.

CHAPTER XXI

Needless to say that Nada was very much alarmed by the threat which her brother had flung at her when she spoke of leaving the Palace. She tried to reason herself into the belief that her fears were groundless. In their not infrequent quarrels he had more than once threatened to lock her up in that gloomy castle in order to bring her to her senses.

But nothing had ever come of it. He was hotheaded and overbearing, but she did not believe him to be vindictive. Of course, in forming this lenient estimate of a character not to be very easily fathomed, she was grievously mistaken.

To-day he was in one of his blind rages, and he had, moreover, been drinking. At such times he was not always responsible for either his words or actions. In a few hours he would be his normal self, and his senseless anger would have died down.

Still, she wished that she could take counsel with somebody. She could not go to her mother. The Princess’s cold had been the precursor of an acute attack of diphtheria of such an infectious nature that her chamber was barred to everybody except the nurse and doctor.

Relatives, of course, Nada had in abundance, but she shrank from exposing her brother to these. He was unpopular enough with his family as it was.

She could, of course, send round a note to Beilski, informing him of her brother’s threat and claiming his protection; but, from the few hints the General had dropped, she could see that he was already sufficiently inflamed against Zouroff. She did not wish to increase that resentment, unless it were absolutely necessary.

But still she felt imperatively the desire to confide, in somebody to have disinterested counsel as to the course she should pursue.

And suddenly the idea of Corsini occurred to her mind. She knew, with the intuitive instinct of a woman, that the young musician had fallen deeply in love with her, that if for certain reasons he would never go so far as to confess his love, she would ever find in him a true and devoted friend.

When she had sent that letter to his hotel to make sure that he had been safely brought back from Pavlovsk, he had forwarded her the piece of music she had asked for, as an excuse for writing to him.

After the first few formal lines of his answering note, he had written some strange words – words which evidently conveyed a deeper meaning than appeared on the surface. She remembered them perfectly.

“I cannot express to you in grateful enough language my thanks for all you have done for me. Later on, perhaps, I may have the opportunity of rendering them personally.”

Grateful thanks for all she had done for him! There was only one service she had rendered him which could call for such warm expressions. But had he been able to connect her with that? Had he been able to reason it out in his own mind that Zouroff was the man who desired his removal? Or had he learned it all from Beilski?

She could not be sure. She had fenced as well as she could with Beilski, but the fact that that carriage had been drawn up within a few yards of the Palace certainly supported the idea that the Prince was the perpetrator of the outrage. Of course, she knew nothing of the General’s second interview with Katerina; the maid had thought it wiser to keep that to herself. Neither did she know of the other interview with Peter the valet.

Zouroff had gone out, leaving word that he would not be home till late at night, very shortly after that stormy scene between the pair. The coast was clear. She would send round a note to Corsini asking him to come and see her for a few moments. Her maid would be waiting for him and would at once conduct him to her boudoir.

She would then endeavour to find out how much he knew; and if he had discovered the absolute truth, then she would seek his counsel and advice.

Corsini went to the Palace at once, much as he disliked entering the house of which the hateful and treacherous Prince was master.

He could see that the young Princess was very agitated as she greeted him.

“It is very kind of you to come so quickly, Signor. What I really wanted to see you about was this. In that letter you wrote me when you sent me that piece of music I asked for, you made use of certain expressions which I could not quite understand. You spoke of my having done you some service for which you wished to express your thanks.”

The Italian looked at her steadily and intently, but in that deep gaze there was a very tender expression.

“Can you yourself recall no service that you have rendered me, Princess?”

So he knew. Of course, if he had not guessed of his own volition, Beilski would have told him that she had sent that letter of warning.

“Ah, I see you have found out,” she faltered. “Well, on the spur of the moment I did my best, and I am glad that the result was so successful.”

“I shall ever remember it with the deepest feelings of gratitude,” said the young musician fervently. “It could have been no light matter for you to act as you did, to run the risk of being detected.”

There was now no further need of fencing on either side. “Signor, since there is now such a frank understanding between us, I want to ask your advice on a matter that is troubling me very much.”

In tones of unmistakable sincerity he assured her that his services were whole-heartedly at her disposal.

“My mother, alas! cannot help me. She is so seriously ill with diphtheria that we are forbidden to go to her room; only the doctor and the nurse are allowed there.”

Corsini expressed his deep regret at the Princess’s severe indisposition. Nada resumed, in her soft, musical voice:

“This morning my brother and I had a serious quarrel.” A vivid blush spread over her charming face as she recalled how the quarrel had begun with his taunting her with her preference for the man whom he called “a strolling player.”

“We have had many quarrels in our time,” she explained. “He is violent and overbearing, and breaks in the most ungovernable rages. At such times, I think, he goes actually mad for the moment. This particular quarrel, however, has left a deeper impression than most. He has threatened to lock me up in a gloomy old Castle in the Caucasus, as a punishment for my venturing to incur his displeasure.”

“And is there any valid, or sufficiently apparent, reason for his displeasure?” asked Corsini. “Or perhaps I am indiscreet in putting that question.”