AS I sat in the sumptuously furnished drawing-room, waiting for Helga Boreski to join me, I felt both embarrassed and puzzled. Who was she? What was the mysterious mission of which she had spoken? What was her connexion with this Boreski affair? What part was she playing in the serio-comic drama in which I had thus suddenly been involved? I could see no answer to the questions. I had made as keen an observation of the house as a few rapid glances in the darkness would permit; but could see little more than that it was a large rambling building standing well secluded in extensive grounds. Inside, the place contained all the evidences of considerable wealth, and it was clear somebody connected with it must have money. Boreski had been described to me, however, as an adventurer, who was angling for his duchess in order to secure her private fortune. He was also unquestionably blackmailing the Government in the matter of the million roubles. Yet the room I was in might have been the parlour of an American millionaire, so costly and precious were many of the pictures and ornaments. Coffee was served to me by footmen who might have stepped straight from an English peer’s household; and altogether, as I say, I was completely mystified. My embarrassment came from a quite different cause. It was one thing to meet an adventurer like this Boreski with his own weapons and fool him into an appreciation of his own short-sightedness; but it I was brooding over the problem with my coffee untasted when she came in, looking positively radiant. Her eyes were shining with excitement, her face was coloured with the glow of the ride; and she had gowned herself simply, but with exquisite taste, in subdued tones that set off her magnificent beauty of face and form to perfection. Every action and gesture were full of grace, and as she moved across the room I followed her with a glance that she must have felt expressed my intense admiration. I was hopelessly bewitched by her ravishing beauty; and that is the truth. “Are you still the American—as to ceremonial?” she asked. “Oh, please;” and I motioned to a lounge, feeling abominably mean. She sank into it with a smile. “Fresh coffee for—M. Denver,” she said to the servant, pausing on the threshold of the name, and glancing at me she pointed to my untouched cup. “And cigarettes.” She lighted a cigarette and I did the same. “You wished it all to be informal,” she said when the servant had left the room. “It is also very extraordinary.” “And very delightful,” I could not help saying. “You have no longer any hesitation as to your own safety?” “I have trusted you and am content.” “Would God it may always be so,” she said earnestly under her breath. “I should never doubt you,” I returned with an emphasis. “But frankly I am completely mystified.” “This is my house; I live here with an old relative, Madame Korvata. She is what the Spaniards would call my duenna, and the English, Mrs. Grundy. But I am like the Americans—you Americans,” she repeated with a glance; “in my love of personal freedom. I do as I like.” “That I can believe. And M. Boreski?” “Is M. Boreski—that is all to me. He is my cousin, very distantly my cousin, and he has his plans.” She managed to suggest that these schemes were indifferent to her, and after a short pause added meaningly— “We all have plans, haven’t we? Little moves of the pawns on the chess board, leading to some great combination—perhaps, that is.” “M. Boreski is coming here?” I asked. “You are already impatient to go.” The retort came quickly with just an accent of reproach and disappointment. “On the contrary I am more than content to stay.” She gave me a sharp half-quizzical glance, with a smile in it, quickly suppressed save in her eyes. “I wonder can that be true? What kind of test it would stand?” “Any test you could choose.” “We shall see. I may remind you of that;” half challenge half banter this was. “But my concerns are nothing to you.” “Then let us make them something.” Our eyes met as I said this with an earnestness that was personal if not Imperial, and she met my gaze openly and steadily. Hers were dangerous eyes for any man to look into, and especially for one who thought of her as I did. “I wonder what you mean by that? What I ought to read behind your look and eager offer?” “Nothing but goodwill to you. Believe that.” “An ignorance you can easily correct. But no, you are right, it must not be yet,” I exclaimed hastily. I had no right to invite confidence from her until she knew who I really was. But my exclamation surprised her. “Why not yet—from your side?” “I cannot tell you. How long will M. Boreski be?” She wrinkled her brow at the question. “You mean you would first know what my connexion with his scheme is? A somewhat shallow trust yours, after all.” “It may seem so, but I did not mean that.” “Then what did you mean?” Her eyes again sought mine as if to read my thoughts. I threw up a blockading smile. “How long will he be?” “You play with me,” she exclaimed petulantly. “I do not make a pleasant plaything. M. Boreski will be here soon now. He will find some one to take his place and play hare to your police dogs—the dogs that were not to have been set upon us.” “‘Us’?” I repeated with a lift of the eyebrows. “You do identify yourself with him then?” She laughed. “That is a man’s retort. Suspicion for suspicion; and it serves me right. Now that the time has come, I am not myself. I am too anxious. I do not understand—Americans. You make me feel as no other man as ever yet made me feel.” Was this for the Emperor or for myself? I did not relish the problem and made no reply. She sighed, and rising touched the bell, and remained standing while the servants came and removed the coffee-cups. When the servants had gone again she remained standing with one elbow resting upon an ebony column under a branch of electric lights, the soft shaded colours from which fell upon her, enhancing her beauty. “In the train yesterday you said you wished to see me again,” she said slowly in a low seductive voice. “You have had your wish, you see. It is good to be—an American. Will you have the same wish after to-night, I wonder. I wonder,” she added musingly. “It is a graver question whether you would grant the wish if I expressed it.” “Do you doubt it? You need not.” And then quickly as if to get on to safer ground, “The wishes of such an American must be commands to—to Russian subjects.” I winced and my face clouded, and I wished my Imperial character at the bottom of the Black Sea. She was quick to notice the change. “I have offended you. How?” There was eagerness in her eyes. “No. I have offended myself, that’s all,” I returned with a little sigh of vexation. “You are hard to understand,” she murmured softly. “Without the key to the riddle, yes;” and once more we lapsed into silence. During the pause she resumed her seat. “M. Boreski should be here now, monsieur,” she said at length, a notable difference in her tone. “You are going to grant his request?” “I have come to obtain the papers he holds.” “I fear you will find him difficult to deal with after the police incident to-night. Police spies are to him an abomination. You had none yesterday. “I ran no risk. No one knew me,” I answered, rather embarrassed. “I knew you.” “Against what were you warning me?” She read suspicion in the question. “I am not a Nihilist; but Russia is Russia.” “You know something of these Nihilists?” “I know many of them to be reckless desperate men.” “One has to take chances.” “Do you think this what you term a chance?” “God forbid. But I am glad of your repudiation.” “Did you need it?” she asked, her eyes on mine again. “I have told you I trust you, and I think have shown it. But you are an enigma.” She smiled and leaned forward until her face was near to mine. “Do you think me worth the trouble of solving?” and she was still waiting for my answer and gazing at me when, to my chagrin, the door opened and Boreski entered. I recognized him instantly from his photograph; an aristocrat to his finger-tips he appeared to me, with a perfect manner; as striking a personality in his way as Helga herself. “M. Boreski,” said Helga, rising, and he made a courtier-like bow. “I am more honoured than I can say by the condescension of this interview, your Majesty,” he said. “Pray pardon my lateness, but it is due to circumstances beyond my control.” As I knew he had been leading the police on a wild goose chase I had to restrain an inclination to smile. “Mademoiselle here has already anticipated your explanation, monsieur,” I said; and the two exchanged quick glances. “It was contrary to my express orders that you were followed.” His manner more than his words made me understand that he held he had been badly treated and resented strongly the breach of faith. This was the crossing of the weapons in the game of fence between us. “It is not customary for me to explain my position twice, M. Boreski,” I said with a lofty air. “Let us get to the business of the interview if you please. You will be seated,” and I waved my hand to a chair. “I thank your Majesty,” he replied with a deferential bow as he sat down. “We understand, of course, the peculiar nature of circumstances leading to the interview and the importance attached to the papers which you have. Where are they, if you please?” “Ready to be produced the moment your Majesty has settled the preliminaries.” “You have named very high terms, monsieur.” “His Highness, in your Majesty’s name, has already agreed to them,” he returned quietly. “But we are now face to face, monsieur, and we can re-open the whole matter. I propose to do that, and I invite you to tell me now precisely your ultimate object and your inner motives.” The question surprised him, and he pursed his lips and frowned in thought and looked across at Helga. “I do not understand your Majesty.” “Come, come, monsieur, you must do that. You are young, you have a great career before you as a maestro, they tell me, a career which means ample rewards in money in these days—so that you cannot be seeking money only. What, then, is it?” “Your Majesty is good enough——” “Stay,” I put in then. “I have explained to Mademoiselle Helga that I am strictly incognito. Regard me as no other than the American, Mr. Denver, and let us talk this out as man to man. Forget that “You are very gracious, but my object has already been explained—I desire to marry the Duchess Stephanie.” “As a means to what end?” “Marriage is an end in itself,” said Helga, speaking for the first time, and coming to his rescue. “That would make M. Boreski a mere fortune-hunter, mademoiselle, an extremely distasteful and invidious part to play.” They were both surprised at the turn of things and were silent for some moments. “I thought this part of the matter had been definitely settled,” said Helga; and then for the first time a suspicion crossed my mind that the man was taking his cue from her. He said quickly— “So it has been.” “Are you tired of your art, monsieur? If you were to marry the Duchess Stephanie your career must of course end. What, then, do you expect to gain in its place? Money? What is a million roubles”—I only just avoided saying a hundred thousand dollars—“to a man with your gifts? Do you seek place, power, influence? Let me remind you, you are forcing your way into a circle which will never receive you as an equal. Political influence will be impossible for you—the Emperor himself would be inflexible on that point. If I read you aright, you are a man with ambition and individuality; and neither ambition nor individuality is content to be a mere adjunct to a wife.” “In America is not affection regarded as a possible basis of marriage, M. Denver?” asked Helga; and I turned with a smile to her. “My kinswoman”—I made the slip intentionally and then corrected it—“the Duchess Stephanie is no longer so fascinating as in her youth, mademoiselle. I am only dealing with facts.” “Do I understand then that you are in love with the Duchess?” “That is a point which, with all deference, I will not discuss,” he returned firmly; but despite his firm tone I thought I could discern evidence that I had struck home. “M. Boreski is irrevocably pledged to the Duchess,” said Helga, “and in honour he could not draw back.” “The Emperor would find means to meet that difficulty,” said I. “But be it so. I have come with the written consent to the marriage;” and I took out the papers which Prince Kalkov had given me, glanced at them and laid them on the table. Boreski’s face brightened. Then I added casually— “I should have thought, indeed, that we might have torn up the consent to the marriage and made the draft here for two millions instead of one. A fortune and individual freedom would have seemed to me preferable—especially if coupled with it was a complete condonation of all other matters and—intrigues.” I paused before the word and watched him. The mention of the higher sum had brought a light of avarice into his eyes, which gave way abruptly to surprise and suspicion as I finished. “Intrigues?” It was Helga who put the question, and Boreski looked across at her so doubtfully as to suggest fear. Then he took out his handkerchief and wiped his lips. “Intrigues, mademoiselle,” I replied quietly. “M. Boreski knows my meaning.” This forced him to speak, and his voice was nervous. “I am at a loss to understand you, monsieur.” I paused and looked at him steadily until his eyes fell. “Your sources of secret information are so many, He fidgetted with his handkerchief, and then making a great effort for self-possession he put it away and answered, with a spice of doggedness. “I have named my terms and they have been agreed to.” “As you will. But of course you understand that without that condonation—or pardon—even one so highly placed as the husband of the Duchess Stephanie may be called upon to answer for his acts.” I waited to give him a last chance, and during the silence he was obviously embarrassed. “You make grave accusations very lightly, M. Denver,” said Helga, coming to the rescue again. “Do you think we cannot prove them, mademoiselle?” I asked looking her straight in the face. The man’s manner made me very sure. But she could act much better than he: women can as a rule. Her steady look changed to a winning smile. “What do men do in America, monsieur, when they are so fortunate as to discover a mare’s nest?” “They console themselves if they find in it a woman’s smile, mademoiselle,” I replied lightly, “or take her assurance that it is nothing more serious.” “What can be more serious than a woman’s smile, M. American?” “A man’s nihilism, mademoiselle, for one thing. But come, here are the papers, M. Boreski. I shall have the pleasure of addressing you as Count, I shall hand to you the consent to your unmercenary marriage, and shall give you the draft for a million roubles as the dowry conferred by a grateful Emperor. Where are the papers for me?” He put his hand to his pocket. “I——” he paused suddenly and then said hesitatingly, “I—I will get them. I have your permission to withdraw?” “And to return—with the papers. Will you also see that a carriage is ready?” As he rose I intercepted a very meaning glance between the two, and then once more Helga and I were alone. All had gone smoothly so far; but there was clearly much that I did not yet understand, and I turned to Helga to question her. |