“THANK God, you are safe,” I cried as I assisted Helga from the carriage, my pent-up anxiety making my tone intensely earnest.

“Safe? I?” and she looked at me in astonishment. “Why, has anything happened?”

“I am excited. Ivan has told me of your danger.”

“Then Ivan must be taught how to hold his tongue.”

“I drew it from him, mademoiselle. I made him tell me.”

“Could you not have asked me about my own affairs?”

“I did not question him about your affairs, of course.”

“Then my supposed danger is not my affair?”

“Why play with words? You must explain everything to me. I must know all.”

“Must?” with a lift of the brows. “Your ride seems to have made you strangely impatient. Can you restrain it while I take off my hat, monsieur? I am hungry, too, after my ride. Are not you?”

“I am in a fever to know all, and that’s the truth.”

“I must lecture Ivan for exciting you.”

“I beg you to say nothing to that good fellow.”

“You know that you look much more American now that you are clean shaven, and seem to act up better to the part! But you must not take my breath away;” and with a laugh she left me.

If there was really the danger of which Ivan had spoken, Helga certainly took it very calmly. But I could not be calm, and I paced up and down the room fuming and imagining many evil possibilities for half an hour, until a servant came to usher me to another room, where a meal was laid and Helga with Madame Korvata were awaiting me.

“Even if we are all going to die in ten minutes, we may as well have something to eat first,” said Helga.

“Considering the surprise and no notice, they haven’t done badly, Helga,” declared Madame Korvata critically, looking at the well-spread table. “What a blessing it is that when one reaches the age which appreciates the importance of food, one has good food to eat.”

I sighed, and Helga smiled at my impatience.

“As you invited yourself to Brabinsk, monsieur, I will not apologize for so impromptu a meal,” she said.

“A crust of bread and a glass of water would be more than enough for me in my present mood,” I answered restlessly.

“Is your digestion bad, monsieur?” inquired Madame Korvata sympathetically. “At your age you ought to be able to eat anything. You look well and strong too; I should never have thought it.”

“Thank you, I enjoy excellent health, madame.”

“That’s made a great change in your looks, monsieur. You are not so much like the Emperor now.”

“Have you ever seen the Emperor without his beard, Aunt Korvata?” asked Helga, with a glance at me.

“No, my dear. I’ve only seen him once. I was judging, like most people, by his portraits. You have never seen him very close, have you?”

“I have often wished to,” returned Helga, with another glance. But my restlessness was so insistent that this lightness jarred upon me, and I remained almost moodily silent until the end of a meal that seemed unendurably wearisome. I was consumed with my anxiety to question Helga about Vastic—her Nihilistic associates and her connexion with them.“Can I speak to you alone, at once, mademoiselle?” I said as we rose from the table.

“Yes.” The answer came after a pause which made me think she was going to put me off. We went into the room where I had first been shown. “I have not been at Brabinsk for some time and wish to see to certain things.”

“I am sorry to detain you, but I cannot wait. I wish you to tell me the nature of your and M. Boreski’s relations with this man Vastic and his associates.”

“So, then, you are interested in part of my story—that part which you think might bring me under suspicion?”

“For God’s sake don’t let us fence with words. I am too anxious. You know that you are doing me a gross injustice in saying such a thing, and that my sole motive is concern for you—you yourself, and the danger which may threaten you.”

The earnestness of my manner made her earnest too.

“How should I know that?”

“Because I swear it; because you can read it in my acts. You must feel it; I am sure you do.”

She met my eyes, and seemed to understand some of the passion that I felt was glowing in them.

“You are incomprehensible, monsieur,” and her eyes fell.

“You must see how I feel. Is it true that because you harboured last night a man whom you believed to be the Emperor, you are likely to be in danger from these reckless fanatics? That question has been burning in my brain ever since the suggestion was prompted by Ivan’s words. Is that to be the terrible consequence of this hapless, ill-conceived visit?”

“It was I who planned the visit, monsieur. Do you think I should not foresee any possible consequences?”

“My God, it’s true then!” I exclaimed. “How could you be so mad, so blind, so reckless?”“Blind I was not; reckless you have made me.”

“I?”

“Well, Prince Kalkov and your advisers, monsieur, if you prefer that.”

“But I am not the Emperor, mademoiselle,” I cried angrily. “That is what I mean. You have incurred this fearful risk for nothing.”

“You have said so already, many times, monsieur.”

I tossed up my hands in despair and began to stride up and down the room.

“There must be an end to this,” I cried sharply. “I must find some means of making you believe the truth.”

She rose and came to me.

“If I were in such danger as you think, would you help me?”

“Show me how and test me.” She looked long and anxiously in my face.

“Those are sweet words to hear,” she said, with a smile and a note of triumph.

I took her hands, and she left them in mine.

“Tell me all about these men, and let us together see what is best to do. The thought of your danger maddens me, Helga.”

“You will listen to me now—hear all I have to say; and then help me in the one purpose of my life?”

“I will help you, God knows, loyally in everything—in everything; but I cannot give you the kind of help you seek, because I am not the man you believe. You must not give me your confidence while you hold to that mistaken belief.”

She was going to protest again—I read it in her eyes—but, instead, she paused, and then asked—

“If I care not what you are, will you listen?”

“Readily, readily.”

“I will tell you then,” she said in a low tone, as she withdrew her hands from mine gently. “I am Helga Lavalski.” She looked for some token of recognition of the name from me, as she had on the previous night, and when she saw none her face clouded, and she passed her hand across her eyes as if in pain.

“If I do not recognize the name, it is for the reason I have given you. Until you spoke it last night, I had never heard of it.”

“It is not possible,” she said in low accents of pain. Then, after a pause, she lifted her eyes and continued: “If it must be so, we will pretend that; but the time was when Boris Lavalski was the chosen friend of—of His Majesty, and when the name was oftenest on his lips. They were almost as brothers.”

“You had better tell me all in your own way,” I said.

“It is barely seven years ago that the change came which parted them—a change due to the man I will name presently. My father stood in that man’s path: the one was honest, the other a villain: and by villainous, underhand, infamous methods a charge of treason was laid and proved by perjured liars suborned by the arch-conspirator. You will remember the Nihilist plot at the time?”

I did not, but it was no use interrupting her to repeat my ignorance of the whole affair.

“Well?”

“A truer and more loyal servant the Emperor never had, but his ears were poisoned; the apparent proofs of an assassination plot were laid before him; a trap had been set for my father, and by it he was ruined. He was kidnapped and held a secret prisoner; the tale being spread that he had fled the country; and in his absence the decree of banishment was signed. As foul a crime as was ever committed.”

“You have the proofs of this?”

“That is not the worst. By an even fouler stroke an order for his execution as a Nihilist was obtained. Many men were put to death at that fearful time, and one of the orders with a name written in pencil was signed by the Emperor. This name was afterwards erased and my father’s substituted; and then another lying tale was carried to the Emperor that a mistake had been made and my father had been put to death.”

“By Heaven, what consummate infamy!” I exclaimed. “But the proofs of this! What and where are they?”

“I was scarcely more than a child at the time, barely eighteen, but I was included in the scheme. I should have been arrested had not my friends hidden me and then hurried me from the country. Otherwise, I should have gone to Siberia. As it was, I was proscribed and banished, and all our possessions were seized in the name of the Emperor. Do you wonder if I live but for revenge?”

She paused, but I made no comment.

“I took up the task eagerly. Two years afterwards I returned to Russia in another name, and, girl as I was, I set myself patiently to hunt down the powerful minister who had planned this crime and risen upon it to higher honours. Bit by bit, a fraction here, a fraction there, I collected the proofs, working always secretly, until a stroke of fortune came my way, and a witness, who had been first a tool and then a victim of the same powerful villain, laid the whole truth bare to me. Meanwhile, by the death of a relative, I had become once more rich, and could pay well all who helped me and promise them protection. It was a terrible life for a young girl, monsieur, and in those few years I lived a lifetime. But I had gained what I sought, the proofs and witnesses to support me.”

Triumph as well as anger was in the look she gave me.

“I set myself then to gain your—to gain the Emperor’s ear and to get my father’s case re-opened. But there I was baffled by the man who stood between me and him. I had to fly the country, or my fate would have been as my father’s had been; and those who worked for me were no match for this man’s power and vigilance and cunning. I would not accept failure, and I returned to Russia secretly to seek some other avenue, and at that crisis I met M. Boreski.”

“Had you better tell me his affairs?” I asked warningly, but she waved the warning aside.

“I am telling you everything. He is an exiled Pole—Count Primus Noveschkoff—and for his part in a Polish plot he was exiled and beggared. He is a great violinist, and I saw my way when I learnt that the Duchess Stephanie had become enamoured of him and he of her, strange as that may seem to you, who know her age and lack of personal charms. I helped him to secure her for his wife for I knew the Court would eventually pardon and ennoble him, and that through her I could eventually gain the Emperor’s ear. The obstacles to such a match were of course countless, but I was not daunted, and you know the scheme that I laid—to gain the papers we have obtained—and how it has fared.”

“And M. Paul Drexel?” Her face clouded at the question, and she paused.

“I have told you once before I would do anything to gain my end.”

“But how comes such a man to be on the scene at all?”

“You are interested then in the story I have had to force upon you?” she asked with one of her searching, half-triumphant, half-defiant glances.

“I am intensely interested in this part of your story,” I answered earnestly. “What is he really to you? How comes he here? Do you mean that you would marry such a man, despising him as you do, to gain your purpose?”

My string of questions, and the vehemence with which I asked them, seemed to please her, for she smiled.“I would do even that—if it were necessary. He has forced himself upon us, and his silence on certain things—why should I not tell you, I have told you all,” she broke off. “I have trusted you.”

“I know that.”

“He knew M. Boreski’s real character and past, and it was in his power to checkmate everything by denouncing him to the Government. He had to be silenced, and his price was—the promise of my hand. I paid it, only thankful he made it so light and did not insist on an immediate marriage. I should have married him—then;” she dropped her voice at the last word and paused before it.

“And now?” I asked, my own voice a fraction unsteady.

She waited before replying, and then looking up frankly said, after an interval, in her usual calm tone—

“It will not now be necessary. You know my story.”

The silence that followed was very embarrassing to me. It was clear she still insisted upon believing I was the Czar. It was in that belief she had spoken, and it was because of that same belief that she and Boreski had been led to break with the man on the previous night. She was so confident the mere recital of her wrongs to me—as the Emperor—would secure the justice, to obtain which was the passionate desire of her life, that I knew how bitter the truth would be when it was forced upon her. It was just an awful mess, and I sighed involuntarily. She looked up in quick questioning perplexity.

“I am looking for some sign from you,” she said anxiously.

“You have not told me of this man Vastic and his friends.”

“I am no Nihilist, monsieur, but I have not hesitated to ally myself with them and to use them. They could obtain certain kinds of information which I was helpless to gain without them, and I was glad to have their help. Indeed, I was compelled to have it.”

“Good God! and didn’t you see the danger?”

“Has my life been so even that I need fear an added risk or two? I have helped them in my turn with money—thousands and thousands of roubles I have given them.” Then, with a quick change to fierceness: “Why did the Government make me an enemy? Why deny me my justice? Why destroy my father and seek to destroy me? Why refuse to hear me? If it was to be war between us, was I to be tender-handed in the weapons I used? Place yourself in my position, monsieur, and say what you would have done.”

“I would not have turned Nihilist,” I answered firmly.

“Nor did I. I am as loyal to the Throne as any woman in Russia. If I were a Nihilist, would you be alive now?”

“I am not accusing you. I am thinking of your present danger.”

“Danger!” she cried contemptuously. “I should despise myself if I sat down to count every shadow of danger that crossed my path. Live a life such as mine and you will come to laugh at dangers as I do. Nothing, no not even the instant prospect of death itself, should stand, or ever has stood, between me and my purpose. Could I have done what I have had I been one of your timid mouse-scared women?”

She looked glorious in her proud repudiation.

“Still, we may as well sound the depths of it,” I said practically. “Does Vastic know who you are?”

“No.”

“Has this Drexel any suspicion?”

“He may have;” the reply was given with a contemptuous shrug.

“To repeat my former question, if Vastic believes you had the Emperor in your house and allowed him to leave, would he be likely to regard that as an offence against the brotherhood?”

“Probably.”

“And punishable—how?”

“They might decree my death.”

“My God, and you speak of danger so calmly,” I cried.

“Danger can always be faced, and generally met and overcome, monsieur.”

Her courage was dauntless.

“Does Drexel know of this place—Brabinsk?”

“I think not. But he is a spy by nature, and may have found it out.”

“He would surely tell Vastic and the rest?”

“Surely, no; probably, or possibly, yes. There are limits even to the courage of his baseness.” She paused, and then added, “If he thought you were here, he might do anything.”

I sat thinking intently, distressed and baffled by the knowledge of the dangers among which she moved. She waited for me to speak, and gradually an expression of dismay and pain clouded her features. She was looking for some sign from me, as Emperor, that I would help her to the object always foremost in her thoughts. And receiving none, the belief that she had got her story to me and had yet failed to gain the Imperial protection, chilled and hardened her. And well it might, forsooth.

I was too stunned by the enormous difficulties on all sides to see what to do or say.

Suddenly she rose, her manner half-anxious appeal and half-veiled threat as she said—

“The man who ruined my father was your confidential adviser and his former friend, Prince Kalkov. If you feel that he is too valuable to you, you will probably do nothing and leave me to deal with those papers as I will. But I beg your—I beg you, monsieur, to think, if not of my father and my wrongs, at least to consider what it may mean to Russia. In an hour doubtless you will be able to decide and leave Brabinsk. And remember, oh remember, how I have trusted you and how much I have built upon this interview.”

And without waiting to hear the protest that sprang to my lips she left the room.