I took Mazeppa’s message to Vera Kurbatof, but Vera was agitated and disinclined to accept the suggestion of my friend.

‘It is foolish,’ she said, ‘and dangerous. What if the Tsar should see me and say something, or even look something? all would then be lost. Remember, I would die rather than be chosen by him. Moreover, does Mazeppa think that the Grand Duchess forgets so easily? Tell him that I was sent for to the palace and that the Tsar kissed my hand. That was my death warrant unless I escape. I tell you, as I myself was told by her Highness, that I am kept in reserve as a kind of trump card: these other maidens are a mere concession to the Tsarish custom and to the feared expostulations of the Boyars, who are accustomed to enjoy the chance of providing each Tsar with a bride. The Tsar will not look seriously at them. It is mere foolishness to bring me into the lion’s den. How shall I come forth again, think you?’

‘Mazeppa, I suppose, has some scheme for your salvation. It is he that suggests it: he would scarcely place you in the lion’s den—he of all others—unless he knew of a way to get you out again, and once for all!’

‘Why he of all others?’ asked Vera.

‘You seem to have left your fate in his hands: he will help you to escape, but be sure that he intends to profit by your devotion to him!’

‘My devotion to him? You use a foolish term, sir. There is no speculation in Mazeppa’s generosity. He has offered to help me from motives of pure sympathy. He would not see me made a living sacrifice.’

‘Why think you so well of Mazeppa?’ I asked.

‘He has understood my position and has offered to save me from that which would be worse than death to me. There has been no talk of reward. He wishes for none and asks none. As for devotion, that—as I say—was a foolish expression. There is no such thing on either side.’

‘So be it,’ I said; ‘only be sure that Mazeppa is not one to labour for nothing.’

Vera was silent for a little while. At last she spoke.

‘I see that you imply more than you say. Do you then know so much of Mazeppa that you mistrust his motives in offering to assist me?’

‘I know that Mazeppa admires a good-looking woman,’ I laughed, ‘and that you are one; also that he admires you even more than other fair women; and lastly, that what Mazeppa admires he covets, and what he covets he generally obtains, by fair means or foul.’

‘You should need to know a man well indeed before you would speak thus of him,’ Vera murmured. ‘Why do you suggest this of Mazeppa?’

‘To say truth, because I do not wish you to put yourself in his hands. He is dangerous.’

‘But if I do not so, what else am I to do? to whom shall I go for help? You are kind and appear to take an interest in me, but have you any alternative plan if I refuse this of Mazeppa?’

‘I should be cruel indeed if I disadvised one plan and had no alternative to suggest,’ I said. ‘As for “interest in you,” perhaps I, too, know a beautiful woman when I see her!’

‘And, like him again, are not one to labour without reward, you would say? Go away then, sir; I have no rewards such as you suggest, either for yourself or for Mazeppa. I will find some way out of this danger without your help or his. Fie, sir! are you not ashamed to speak so?’

‘You go too fast!’ I said, laughing. ‘It was your own suggestion, not mine, that I expect a reward for serving. I expect none. I only said that I am interested in you because you are beautiful: is that so great a sin?’

‘It is enough to indicate that having served me you will afterwards ask a reward. All men are alike.’

‘Well, see now, Vera Stepanovna,’ I said, ‘you do me injustice, for I had been married ere this, but that my bride was carried off for the Tsar’s choosing. A man thus used may surely be credited with disinterestedness in offering service to a woman!’

‘If that is so,’ she said, after a short silence, ‘I will listen to your proposal. Forgive me if I did you an injustice,’ she added; ‘it may be that in my present terror and agitation I have lost my manners.’

‘I forgive everything at such a time,’ I replied, ‘for I understand that you speak and act as one who stands at the edge of an abyss. I see no way of escape for you excepting by disappearance. That is my view of the matter. It you stay here, that is at your father’s house, you remain in constant danger, almost as much so as though you were actually within the terem——’

‘That is true,’ she said, sighing; ‘but your scheme, if that is the whole of it, is but a barren one; for how is a maiden to disappear in this city, more especially one who is well known and easily found?’

‘There is more in my scheme. I suggest that you go for sanctuary, but secretly of course, to the DiÉvitchy monastery.’

‘And take the veil? Oh, no, no! I love life and freedom, and God’s air. I could not be a nun with shorn head and a heart as bare of hope and the joy of life!’

‘You need not be a nun. You shall seek refuge for awhile only, until the Tsar is well married and all this is forgotten. Your hair may remain a crown of glory to you as now. God forbid that it should be taken from you!’

‘You speak impossibilities. You do not know how strict is this community. Once lie in their clutches, and forever the world is shut out to you, and joy and the delight of living and of loving—oh! there could be but one thing worse: to be married to this prince. Oh! why am I so plagued for my sins that I must choose one of two such horrible things? Search your imagination, good Chelminsky, I pray you; think of a better way!’

‘This is a good way, be assured. It so happens that I have done these nuns and their Superior a service for which they have promised me a return. I shall demand that they give you sanctuary, and they will concede it. When you wish you shall come out, and with you shall come your golden head all unshorn, and your heart no more dead to the joy of living and loving than to-day—in short, you shall come forth, when the Tsar is safely married, just as you now go in!’

‘Oh, Chelminsky, do not jest with me!’ she cried, her hands clasped together, her eyes full of tears. ‘How could you obtain so great a favour? What is the claim you have upon these holy women? Remember, there is the curse of God for liars; more especially for such as lie to the ruin and despair of helpless women!’

I told Vera the story of my encounter with Rachmanof, and of his sister’s attempted abduction from the convent, and how the Superior had expressed gratitude for the service I rendered this lady in preventing her brother in his designs.

‘Oh, Chelminsky!’ exclaimed Vera, flushing and seizing me by the arm, ‘beware, I beseech you, after this. I know him, this Rachmanof: he is a man of evil temper; he will kill you at sight. His sister is beautiful. I do not wonder that you should have risked so much for her sake!’

‘Oh, believe me,’ I laughed, ‘I scarcely looked at her face. What I did I should have done for any woman so situated. Come, is my offer a good one? What say you?’

‘It is so good that I scarcely dare believe in it. Can I trust you? The Cossacks, it is said, are a wild race, caring little for the rights of others, or for the honour of women, so only they have their way. You have shown me that Mazeppa is not to be trusted; how can I tell that you are any better, who are his friend?’

‘You cannot tell, of course. Cossacks are said to be untrustworthy, and you cannot be blamed for your doubting. Mazeppa is a fox whom I have only lately caught in my own fowl-run: do not take him into account or measure me by his standard. Let him be. For the matter of that, let me be also if you will not trust me. I desire to serve you, that is all I can say—believe it or not.’

Vera gazed for a little while into my face. ‘I do not think you are altogether trustworthy,’ she said, a faint smile playing for an instant about her mouth, ‘judging, I mean, by your face. I fear that you do not consider it wrong or dishonourable to deceive others to your own advantage; yet I am inclined to trust you now——’

‘Because you must, and there is no other way,’ I cried, laughing aloud. ‘Come, speak the full truth and I will do the same. Yes, I think little of deception when it is necessary to my well-being; but I am a poor deceiver compared with Mazeppa. In this I am not so good a Cossack as he; in other ways I think I am a better. At this moment I am altogether honest; I do desire to serve you——’

‘But why? If only I could understand your motive in this I should be easier in my mind.’

‘Lord knows,’ I laughed. ‘If you will have my opinion, however, I believe it is that, since I have discovered that Mazeppa admires you, I have begun to admire you also. I have lately determined to get the better of Mazeppa, or try to do so, in every matter in which our destinies meet, throughout life. I suppose, therefore, that I wish you to think better of me than of him.’

Vera was silent for a moment. Then she burst into a delightful torrent of laughter, so that for a while she could not speak.

‘Come,’ she said at last, clapping her hands and coughing, ‘that is truth, real naked truth. Oh! what a motive! But it is truth, and I will trust you. Come, when shall we go?’

‘This moment, if you please,’ said I, gazing at the girl in a kind of rapture. I had never seen her look so beautiful as now, with the colour in her cheeks and the tears of mirth in her eyes. She was charming indeed!