Part 27 (2/2)

”Madame would she not put some flowers in her dress?”

No. Madame would not. Madame detested flowers. Whereat the intelligent Clementine carefully examined the name of the sender, inscribed on a card which lay in the top of the box. Mr. Barker knew better than to send flowers anonymously. He wanted all the credit he could get. The Countess swept out of the room.

At the door of the sitting-room she was met by a young man, who bent low to kiss her extended hand, and greeted her with a manner which was respectful indeed, but which showed that he felt himself perfectly at ease in her society.

Nicola Alexandrewitch, whom we will call simply Count Nicholas, was the only brother of Margaret's dead husband. Like Alexis, he had been a soldier in a guard regiment; Alexis had been killed at Plevna, and Nicholas had succeeded to the t.i.tle and the estates, from which, however, a considerable allowance was paid to the Countess as a jointure.

Nicholas was a handsome man of five or six and twenty, of middle height, swarthy complexion, and compact figure. His beard was very black, and he wore it in a pointed shape. His eyes were small and deep-set, but full of intelligence. He had all the manner and appearance of a man of gentle birth, but there was something more; an indescribable, undefinable air that hung about him. Many Russians have it, and the French have embodied the idea it conveys in their proverb that if you scratch a Russian you will find the Tartar. It is rather a trait of Orientalism in the blood, and it is to be noticed as much in Servians, Bulgarians, Roumanians, and even Hungarians, as in Russians. It is the peculiarity of most of these races that under certain circ.u.mstances, if thoroughly roused, they will go to any length, with a scorn of consequence which seems to the Western mind both barbarous and incomprehensible. Margaret had always liked him.

He was wild; but he was a courteous gentleman, and could always be depended upon.

”Mon cher,” said Margaret, ”I need not tell you I am enchanted to see you, but what is the meaning of the things you wrote me this morning?

Are you really in trouble?”

”Helas, yes. I am in the worst kind of trouble that exists for a Russian. I am in political trouble--and that entails everything else.”

”Tell me all about it,” said she. ”Perhaps I may help you.”

”Ah no! you cannot help. It is not for that I am come. I have a confession to make that concerns you.”

”Well?” said she, with a smile. She did not suppose it could be anything very bad.

”You will be angry, of course,” he said, ”but that is nothing. I have done you an injury that I cannot repair.”

”Enfin, my dear Nicholas, tell me. I do not believe anything bad of you.”

”You are kindness itself, and I thank you in advance. Wait till you have heard. I am 'suspect,'--they think I am a Nihilist I am exiled to the mines, and everything is confiscated. Voila! Could it be worse?”

Margaret was taken off her guard. She had herself been in more than easy circ.u.mstances at the time of her marriage, but the financial crisis in America, which occurred soon after that event, had greatly crippled her resources. She had of late looked chiefly to her jointure for all the luxuries which were so necessary to her life. To find this suddenly gone, in a moment, without the slightest preparation, was extremely embarra.s.sing. She covered her eyes with one hand for a moment to collect her thoughts and to try and realise the extent of the disaster. Nicholas mistook the gesture.

”You will never forgive me, I know. I do not deserve that you should.

But I will do all in my power to repair the evil. I will go to Siberia if they will consider your rights to the estate.”

Margaret withdrew her hand, and looked earnestly at the young man.

”Forgive you?” said she. ”My dear Nicholas, you do not suppose I seriously think there is anything to forgive?”

”But it is true,” he said piteously; ”in ruining me they have ruined you. Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! If I only had a friend--”

”Taisez vous donc, mon ami. It is everything most bete what you say. You have many friends, and as for me, I do not care a straw for the money.

Only if I had known I would not have left Europe. Voila tout.”

”Ah, that is it,” said Nicholas. ”I escaped the police and hurried to Baden. But you were gone. So I took the first steamer and came here. But I have waited ten days, and it was only last night I saw in the papers that you had arrived yesterday morning. And here I am.”

Margaret rose, from a feeling that she must move about--the restless fiend that seizes energetic people in their trouble. Nicholas thought it was a sign for him to go. He took his hat.

”Believe me--” he began, about to take his leave.

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