Best Short Stories Omnibus - Volume 2

III

IIIHow long Constantin Lubomirski remained in this state of unconsciousness he did not know, but when he awoke the evening was drawing in. He roused himself wearily; then, as the events of the past came back to him, he buried his head in his arms. At first he seemed powerless to think; the situation seemed so absolutely hopeless that his eyes, as if unconsciously, fixed themselves on the panoply of rare and costly arms, swords, guns, and revolvers that adorned his wall.

To die—to rest! Oh! he felt so weary of this pomp, this glory earned at such a bitter price. He took a dainty revolver in his hand, so light and fragile, and thought how one moment’s determination would put him beyond all strife, all remorse. Then the fair vision of Maria rose before him once more, and of the boy Stefan, who would then inevitably know all; perhaps proclaim it to all who chose to hear that Prince Lubomirski was a traitor, and died to avoid discovery. No, no; that should not be. He had fought so long, so valiantly, surely something could be done; all was not yet lost.

Stefan was in St. Petersburg, true; but, harassed by anxiety, and almost a fugitive, he probably had not yet had the time or inclination to trouble with the dead man’s papers. If so, all would be well. Then Constantin resolved that he himself would tell Maria Alexandrowna all, throw himself on her mercy, beg from her those compromising papers, then trust to her boundless, long-enduring love for him, to obtain her forgiveness in exchange for his confession.

Calling to his valet for his hat and stick, he sallied forth into the street, and rapidly found his way to the little house on the banks of the Neva, where his fate would be decided. It lay quiet and still in the moonlight, and Constantin hardly dared to touch the bell and ask if Mademoiselle was alone. The lacquey who opened the door told him that Maria Alexandrowna had not gone to bed, although her duenna had done so for some time. She was expecting a gentleman, no doubt she meant his Excellency. and if his Excellency would step inside he would find Maria Alexandrowna in the boudoir.

All was safe then so far; Constantin questioned the lacquey closely as to what visitors his mistress had received during the day, and no one apparently had called who could possibly have been Stefan.

Constantin found the young girl sitting alone in semi-darkness, save for a small lamp with a soft pink shade, which stood in one of the window recesses.

She jumped up, pleased, if somewhat astonished at the unusual lateness of his visit, and he took her hand gently in his, and drawing her near him on the sofa, he watched for awhile her sweet profile outlined against the pink lamp, and thought what a difficult task he had set himself. How could he talk of such evil to an angel so pure and good?

“Maria Alexandrowna,” he said at last, with an effort, “I wish to speak to you upon a very serious matter to-night; will you listen to me for a moment?”

“Yes, Constantin,” she said abstractedly, but he could see that her mind was far away; she seemed anxious, very restless; her eyes wandered to the lamp at the window, and she bent her head once or twice as if listening.

“Maria,” he continued, “you have often assured me that your love for me is very great, and playfully asked me to put it to the test. I am going to put that love to a very severe test to-night.”

She looked up at him, and in her clear blue eyes he saw such a depth of love that he hesitated no longer, and rapidly in short, jerky sentences, he began to tell her all that had happened.

The young girl’s eyes at first opened in wonder and softened with pity at the sad tale, gradually dilated with horror, then, as the conviction slowly arose in her that what he was telling her was a confession of a crime so fearful, so degrading, so low that the most abject moujik would shun its perpetration as he would the pestilence, she drew herself away from him.

“Why do you tell me this now?” said Maria Alexandrowna at last. “Why not rather have never sought me out, or left me to know nothing?”

Why. indeed? Aye! there was yet the most difficult part to tell. How was he to ask this pure, innocent girl to become his accomplice and help him to escape from the punishment that was even now at his door? Constantin’s throat was parched, his face was ashy pale. But nerve himself to the task he must, and, rising from his seat, he was about to approach her, when his ear caught the sound of a soft footstep outside, and a discreet knock at the door.

Maria Alexandrowna heard it, too, for a startled look came into her face, and, putting a finger to her lips, she somewhat lowered the lamp and pointed towards a dark corner of the room.

Constantin understood the gesture and retired into the shadow. Scarcely had he done so when the door opened and a young man came in. His face and manner and general appearance were so like Maria’s that Constantin knew at once that it was her brother Stefan.

Stefan Barteniew was evidently expected, for Maria had shown no surprise at his entrance. Constantin heard her ask him anxious questions, and Stefan began telling her of the dangers he had passed and his fortunate escape, thanks to the devotion of his young English friend.

Once Maria Alexandrowna turned her head towards the dark corner of the room; that was when Stefan told her that some unknown, powerful foe must have been at work to keep him wilfully so far away from home. Her eyes, as she searched the gloom, wore, Constantin thought, almost a look of hatred then.

“I must not stay in Russia, Maria darling,” Stefan added, “and have just come to see you and collect some papers and money, as it will be obviously wiser for me to remain abroad until I know that I am safe. I shall leave for England to-night, and half hope that you may delay your marriage and join me there for a little while. Perhaps even you could start with me now; you would have two hours in which to pack some things.”

“I should like to go with you, Stefan,” Maria said gently, “and we will leave Anoushka to shut up and take care of the house. Two hours is more than I want to pack my immediate requirements.”

“I will wait for you here, and while you are gone I can look through my uncle’s private papers that you told me had never been touched since his death, and which might be of importance. Have you the key of the bureau?”

“Yes, here it is,” said Maria Alexandrowna, taking the chain from her neck, and handing the key to Stefan. Then she crossed the room and once more found herself face to face with Constantin.

In his eyes dilated with horror, in his hand pointing with trembling finger towards Stefan now engaged in opening the bureau drawer, she read in one instant the sequel to the terrible story he had been telling her. The proof, in some shape or form, of his guilt lay in the drawer of that bureau, on which her brother Stefan’s hand was even now resting.

“Maria, my darling, can you give me a little more light? I can’t see what I am doing.”

She walked across the floor and mechanically took the lamp from its stand, and holding it with both hands, she stood behind her brother, who sat with his back turned towards Constantin, and was busying himself with the bundles of papers that lay in the drawer.

Not a sound save the rustle of paper was heard for two or three minutes, whilst Maria Alexandrowna stood as if turned to stone, her eyes, dilated with terror, seeming to try and read through the wrappers before her brother opened them. So far, he had only come across a number of private memoranda of more or less value, which he classified and put on one side. Suddenly Constantin Lubomirski guessed by something in Maria Alexandrowna’s expression of face that the fatal papers were under Stefan’s hand. He made a sudden, unconscious movement forward, whilst a halt-smothered exclamation escaped his lips. Stefan Barteniew, startled, threw all the papers back into the drawer, and, jumping up, turned towards Constantin, whom he vaguely discerned in the gloom.

“Who goes there?” he said, springing forward and ready to jump at the intruder.

Maria Alexandrowna was still standing lamp in hand, her eyes fixed on the drawer, where all the papers lay in a tangled mass; one minute’s hesitation, and, before her brother or Constantin had time to see what she was doing, she had thrown the lamp violently down, and it fell crashing on to the bureau, wrapping all the papers scattered therein in a sea of flames.

Constantin, with the instinct of self-preservation and forgetting all, save Maria’s danger, tore down the curtains from the window and threw them on the flaming desk, quickly smothering the fire. When all danger was passed and the curtains removed, the papers in the desk were but a heap of ashes.

“I thank you, Monsieur,” said Stefan Barteniew, “for the coolness with which you helped to preserve all our lives, and my sister’s property, though I fear that many valuable papers have been destroyed. May I not have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“My name is Constantin Lubomirski,” he said.

“The Imperial Chancellor and my sister’s fiancé,” said Stefan cordially, stepping forward and offering Constantin his hand.

“His Excellency is no longer my fiancé, Stefan,” said Maria Alexandrowna, taking hold of her brother’s hand, and thus preventing Constantin from grasping it. “When you came, I was just telling him that I was too young to know my own mind when I became engaged to him, and I have asked him to set me free. Prince Lubomirski has so many great interests to occupy his life; all Russia looks to him for guidance and future glory; I will watch his brilliant career with eager interest, but love, such as a wife should feel for her husband, I have none to give....”

She seemed calm and impassive, there was not the slightest tremor in her voice, but a stern, irrevocable determination. Constantin Lubomirski threw a last look at the girl who had so deeply loved, so nobly saved him, and, bowing his head before her, he passed out of her life for ever.