The Red Symbol Part 35

"There are some who might learn discretion from Yossof," he remarked sententiously.

"Just so. But who is he, anyhow? He might be 'the wandering Jew'

himself, from the mysterious way he seems to get around the world."

"Who and what he is? That I cannot tell you, for I do not know, or seek to know, since it is no business of mine. I go to bed; for we must start betimes in the morning."

Not another word did he speak, beyond a surly "good night;" but, though I followed his example and got into bed, with my revolver laid handily on the bolster as he had placed his, hours pa.s.sed before sleep came to me. I lay listening to Mishka's snores,--he was a noisy sleeper,--and thinking of Anne; thinking of that one blissful month in London when I saw her nearly every day.

How vividly I remembered our first meeting, less than five months back, though the events of a lifetime seemed to have occurred since then. It was the evening of my return from South Africa; and I went, of course, to dine at Chelsea, feeling only a mild curiosity to see this old school-fellow of Mary's, whose praises she sang so enthusiastically.

"She was always the prettiest and smartest girl in the school, but now she's just the loveliest creature you ever saw," Mary had declared; and though I wasn't rude enough to say so, I guessed I was not likely to endorse that verdict.

But when I saw Anne my scepticism vanished. I think I loved her from that first moment, when she came sweeping into Mary's drawing-room in a gown of some gauzy brown stuff, almost the color of her glorious hair, with a bunch of white lilies at her bosom. She greeted me with a frank friendliness that was much more like an American than an English girl; indeed, even then, I never thought of her as English. She was, as her father had told his friend Treherne he meant her to be, "cosmopolitan to her finger-tips." She even spoke English with a curious precision and deliberation, as one speaks a language one knows perfectly, but does not use familiarly. She once confided to me that she always "thought" either in French or German, preferably French.

Strange that neither Mary nor I ever imagined there was any mystery in her life; ever guessed how much lay behind her frank allusions to her father, and the nomadic existence they had led. I wondered, for the thousandth time, how it was that Jim first suspected her of concealing something. How angry I was at him when he hinted his suspicions; and yet he had hit on the exact truth! I knew now that her visit to Mary was not what it had seemed,--but that she had seized upon the opportunity presented by the invitation to s.n.a.t.c.h a brief interval of peace, and comparative safety. If she had happened to encounter Ca.s.savetti earlier, doubtless her visit would have terminated then. Yes, that must be the explanation; and how splendidly she had played her dangerous part!

I hated to think of all the duplicity that part entailed; I would not think of it. The part was thrust on her, from her birth, by her upbringing, and if she played it gallantly, fearlessly, resourcefully, the more honor to her. But it was a bitter thought that Fortune should have thrust all this upon her!

As I lay there in that frowzy room, staring at a shaft of moonlight that came through a c.h.i.n.k in the shutters, making a bar of light in the darkness like a great, unsheathed sword, her face was ever before my mind's eyes, vividly as if she were indeed present,--the lovely mobile face, "growing and fading and growing before me without a sound," now sparkling with mirth, now haughty as that of a petulant young queen towards a disfavored courtier. Mary used to call her "dear Lady Disdain"

when she was in that mood. Again, it appeared pale and set as I had seen it last, the wide brilliant eyes flas.h.i.+ng indignant defiance at her accusers; but more often with the strange, softened, wistful expression it had worn when we stood together under the portico of the Cecil on that fatal night; and when she waved me good-bye at Charing Cross.

In those moments one phase of her complex nature had been uppermost; and in those moments she loved me,--me, Maurice Wynn, not Loris Solovieff, or any other!

I would not have relinquished that belief to save my soul; although I knew well that the mood was necessarily a transient one. She had devoted her beauty, her talents, her splendid courage, her very life, to a hopeless cause. She was as a queen, whose realm is beset with dangers and difficulties, and who therefore can spare little or no thought for aught save affairs of state; and I was as the page who loved her, and whom she might have loved in return if she had been but a simple gentlewoman. Once more I told myself that I would be content if I could only play the page's part, and serve her in life and death, "_a la vie et a la mort_" as the new pa.s.sword ran; but how was I even to begin doing that?

An unanswerable question! I must just go on blindly, as Fate led me; and Fate at this moment was prosaically represented by Mishka. Great Scott, how he snored!

We were astir early; I seemed to have just fallen asleep when Mishka roused me and announced that breakfast was waiting, and the horses ready.

We rode swiftly, and for the most part in silence, as my companion was even less communicative than usual. I noticed, as we drew near to Zostrov, a change for the better in the aspect of the country and the people. The last twenty versts was over an excellent road, while the streets of the village where we found our change of horses waiting, and of two others beyond, were comparatively clean and well-kept, with sidewalks laid with wooden blocks. The huts were more weather-tight and comfortable,--outside at any rate. The land was better cultivated, too, and the _moujiks_, though most of them scowled evilly at us, looked better fed and better clothed than any we had seen before. They all wore high boots,--a sure sign of prosperity. Yesterday boots were the exception, and most of the people, both men and women, were shod with a kind of moccasin made of plaited gra.s.s, and had their limbs swathed in ragged strips of cloth kept clumsily in place with gra.s.s-string.

"It is his doing," Mishka condescended to explain. "His and my father's.

He gives the word and the money, and my father and those under him do the rest. They try to teach these lazy swine to work for their own sakes,--to make the best of their land; it is to further that end that all the new gear is coming. They will have the use of it--these pigs--for nothing. They will not even give thanks; rather will they turn and bite the hand that helps them; that tries to raise them out of the mud in which they wallow!"

He spat vigorously, as a kind of corollary to his remarks.

As he spoke we were skirting a little pine wood just beyond the village, and a few yards further the road wound clear of the trees and out across an open plain, in the centre of which rose a huge, square building of gray stone, crowned with a cupola that gleamed red in the rays of the setting sun.

"The castle!" Mishka grunted.

"It looks more like a prison!" I exclaimed involuntarily. It was a grim, sinister-looking pile, even with the sun upon it.

Mishka did not answer immediately. There was a clatter and jingle behind us, and out of the wood rode a company of hors.e.m.e.n, all in uniform. Two rode ahead of the rest, one of them the Grand Duke himself.

Mishka reined up at the roadside, and sat at the salute, and I followed his example.

The Duke did not even glance in our direction as he pa.s.sed, though he acknowledged our salute in soldierly fas.h.i.+on.

We wheeled our horses and followed well in the rear of the imposing escort,--a whole troop of cavalry.

"You are right," Mishka said, in a husky growl, that with him represented a whisper. "It is a prison, and yonder goes the prisoner.

You will do well to remember that in your dealings with him, Herr Gould."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

THE PRISONER OF ZOSTROV

The castle stood within a great quadrangle, which we entered through a ma.s.sive stone gateway guarded by two sentries. Two more were stationed at the top of a steep and wide marble stairway that led up to the entrance hall, and the whole place seemed swarming with soldiers, and servants in handsome liveries. A couple of grooms came to hold our horses, and a third took possession of my valise, containing chiefly a dress suit and some s.h.i.+rts. My other belongings were coming on in the wagon.

Mishka's manner underwent a decided change from the moment we entered the castle precincts. The bluff and often grumpy air of familiarity was gone, and in its place was the surly deference with which he had treated me at first. As we neared the end of our journey, he had once more warned me to be on my guard, and remember that I must appear as an utter stranger to the Duke and all about him, except Mishka himself.

"You have never been in Russia before," he repeated. "And you speak only a few words of Russian, which I have taught you on our way. That will matter little, since most here speak French and German."

He parted from me with a deferential salute, after handing me over to the care of a gorgeously attired functionary, whom I found to be a kind of majordomo or house steward. This imposing person welcomed me very courteously; and I gathered that I was supposed to be a new addition to the Grand Duke's suite. I had rather wondered on what footing I should be received here, especially since Mishka's remark, a while back, about the "prisoner." But some one--Loris himself or Mishka, or both of them--had planned things perfectly, and I am sure that no one beyond ourselves and the elder Pavloff, who was also in the secret, had the slightest suspicion that I was other than I appeared to be.

My new acquaintance himself conducted me to the rooms prepared for me,--a s.p.a.cious bedroom and sitting-room, with plain, ma.s.sive furniture, including a big bookcase that occupied the whole of an alcove between the great Russian stove and the outer wall. Facing this was a door leading to a smaller dressing and bath room, where the lackey who had carried up my valise was in waiting.

"This Nicolai will be in attendance on you; he speaks German," my courteous guide informed me in French. "He will bring you all you need; you have only to give him orders. You will dine at the officers' mess, and after dinner his Highness will give you audience."

"Does Monsieur Pavloff--the land steward--live in the castle?" I asked, thinking it wise to emphasize my a.s.sumed role. "I understand that I'll have to work with him."

"No; his house is some two versts distant. But he is often in attendance here, naturally. Perhaps you will see him to-night; if not, without doubt, you will meet him to-morrow. Nicolai awaits your orders, and your keys."

He bowed ceremoniously, and took himself off.

That Nicolai was a smart fellow. He already had the bath prepared,--I must have looked as if I wanted one,--and when I gave him the key of my bag, he laid out my clothes with the quick deftness of a well-trained valet.

I told him I shouldn't want him any more at present, but when I had bathed and changed, I found him still hovering around in the next room.

He had set a tea-table, on which the silver samovar was hissing invitingly. He wanted to stay and wait on me, but I wouldn't have that.

Smart and attentive as he was, he got on my nerves, and I felt I'd rather be alone. So I dismissed him, and, in obedience to some instinct I didn't try to a.n.a.lyze, crossed the room softly, and locked the door through which he had pa.s.sed.

I had scarcely seated myself, and poured out a gla.s.s of delicious Russian tea,--which is as wine to water compared with the crude beverage, diluted with cream, which Americans and western Europeans call tea,--when I heard a queer little sound behind me. I glanced back, and saw that one section of the big bookcase had moved forward slightly.

With my right hand gripping the revolver that I had transferred from my travelling suit to the hip pocket of my evening clothes, I crossed swiftly to the alcove, just as some three feet of the shelves swung bodily inwards, revealing a doorway behind, in which stood none other than Mishka.

"The fool has gone; but is the outer door locked?" he asked in a cautious undertone.

"Yes," I answered, noticing as I spoke that he stood at the top of a narrow spiral staircase.

"That is well. Approach, Highness; all is safe," he whispered down the darkness behind him, and flattened himself against the narrow wall s.p.a.ce, as a second figure came into sight,--the Grand Duke Loris himself, who greeted me with outstretched hand.

"I do not care for this sort of thing,--this elaborate secrecy, Mr.

Wynn," he said softly in English. "But unfortunately it is necessary.

Let us go through to your dressing-room. There it is less likely that we can be overheard."

I followed him in silence. He sat himself down on the wide marble edge of the bath, and looked at me, as I stood before him, as though his brilliant blue eyes would read my very soul.