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1497 Words
IMadame Olga Borgensky would never, I am sure, of her own accord, have resumed her duties as political agent to the Russian Government.
When, two years ago, she had married Eugen Borgensky, a Pole, she had made both to herself and to him a solemn promise to renounce once for all a métier which, after all, most honest-minded persons would undoubtedly call that of a spy. And when, on the occasion of His Imperial Majesty the Tsar's visit to Vienna, Count Gulohoff approached her on the subject of her returning to the service of her country, she gave him a most emphatic refusal. I have it on the surest authority that this refusal annoyed and disappointed Count Gulohoff very considerably. He was at the time head of the third section of the Russian police, and had been specially ordered to watch over his Imperial master during the latter's stay in Vienna, and there was in his mind a suspicion, almost amounting to a certainty, that some plot was being brewed by the young Poles—chiefly wealthy and of noble parentage—who lived in Vienna, and had already given the home government one or two unpleasant nuts to c***k.
Madame Olga Borgensky was just the person to help him to discover the headquarters of these young fire-eaters—she went everywhere, knew everybody—and if Count Gulohoff could have succeeded in dispatching one or two of them to cool in Siberia, he certainly would have been happier. But Madame Borgensky was obdurate—at any rate, at first.
During the early part of the evening at Princess Leminoff's ball, the indefatigable and diplomatic Count Gulohoff had made many an attack on her firmness of purpose, but she had an army of excuses and reasons at her command, and yet one little incident caused her suddenly to change her resolution.
It was after supper, during the czimbalom solo so exquisitely played by Derék Miksa, the czigány. Madame Borgensky was standing close to the band with her partner, young Prince Leminoff, and round her she noticed most of the young Poles that were such a thorn in the flesh to the Russian Government. She found herself wondering, while listening to Prince Leminoff's softly whispered nothings, whether it was mere coincidence that they each wore a red carnation in their buttonhole. The next moment she distinctly caught sight of a scrap of blue paper being slipped from the hand of Count Zamoisky into that of Dimitri Golowine, and then on to young Natcheff. I suppose it must have been that slip of paper that did the mischief, for one may as well expect a spaniel not to take to the water after a wild duck than ask Madame Olga Borgensky not to follow up a political intrigue when she had by chance caught one thread.
In an instant the old instinct was aroused. Forgotten were her promises to her husband, the dangers she so often had to pass, the odiousness attached to her former calling. She saw but one thing; that was the slip of blue paper which, undercover of the pathetic Magyar love-songs, was being passed from hand to hand, and the contents of which she felt bound to know, in the interests of Russia, of the Tsar, whose life perhaps was being endangered by the plans of these fanatical plotters.
"Prince Leminoff, I feel hot and faint; please take me into the next room at once," she sighed, half closing her eyes, and tottering as if about to fall.
The young man started and turned a little pale. His fingers closed tightly over a scrap of blue paper that had just been thrust into his hand; but his tremor was only momentary. The next instant he was leading the now almost fainting lady into the smoking-room, where a bright blaze was burning in the hearth. Madame Borgensky sank back into an armchair close to the fire.
"Now light a cigarette, Prince," she said, when she had recovered a little; "the smell of the smoke would do me good. Really that music had got on my nerves." And she pushed the gold étui of cigarettes, that stood invitingly near, towards her young partner, who, without a moment's hesitation, and with the greatest sang-froid, folded the compromising paper he was still clutching into a long narrow spill, and after holding it to the fire one moment, was proceeding to light a cigarette with it, when:
"Allow me, Prince; thank you," said Madame Borgensky, gently taking it from between his fingers, and, with an apologetic smile, she lighted her own cigarette. To blow out the flame, throw the paper on the floor, and place her foot on it was the work of but a second, and the young Pole had barely realized what had actually happened when a cheery voice spoke to him from the door.
"Prince Leminoff, the last quadrille is about to commence. Everybody is waiting for you. Are you dancing it with Madame Borgensky?" And the Abbé Rouget, smiling and rubbing his little white hands, trotted briskly into the room.
"Shall we go, Madame?" said the young Prince after a slight hesitation, and offering the lady his arm.
"Please let me stay here a little while longer and finish my cigarette in peace. I really do not feel up to dancing just at this moment. I will give you an extra valse later on if you like."
"If Madame Borgensky will grant me the much sought for privilege," said the Abbé, "I should deem myself very lucky to be allowed to keep her company for half-an-hour."
"At any other time, Monsieur l'Abbé, I should only be too happy," said Madame Borgenky, "but just now I really would prefer to be alone. Five minutes' quiet will set me up for the rest of the evening."
"Your wishes are my commands, Madame; I will read my breviary till the sound of your voice calls me to your side."
And taking Prince Leminoff's arm, the Abbé led him towards the door. As soon as they were out of earshot:
"There is something amiss," said the Abbé. "What is it?"
"Only this," replied the young Pole. "A scrap of blue paper, containing our final arrangements for to-morrow night, is at the present moment under Madame Borgensky's foot. It is partly burnt. Can your Reverence find out how much of it has remained, and if there is any danger in proceeding to-morrow?"
"Easily, my son, quite easily; and if there is, I will find means to warn you—but if all is safe, I will wear the red carnation, as usual, at Madame Borgensky's ball. Say nothing to the others till then."
And the Abbé turned on his heel, and taking a breviary out of his pocket, sat down in a chair opposite Madame Borgensky, and proceeded to read the Latin text in a half-audible voice, apparently not taking the slightest notice of the lady. Olga Borgensky, however, had not yet succeeded in picking up the paper from under her foot; she was burning with impatience to know the contents, and her excitement became such that she could only with the greatest difficulty conceal it from the Abbé.
At length she could endure the suspense no longer, and she was just stooping forward to pick up the paper at all hazards, when the voice of Count Gulohoff startled her. He drew a stool close to her, and said in a low whisper:
"Eh bien, Madame? You see, I come back, an unvanquished enemy, to renew the attack."
"I may be able to serve Russia and help you, Monsieur," Madame Borgensky said excitedly from behind her fan. "Come to my ball to-morrow, and if I find no means of speaking to you privately before then, I will slip a letter for you inside the pink Sèvres vase that, as you know, stands in the centre of the mantelpiece in the ballroom. And now take the Abbé away if you can." Then she said in a louder tone of voice: "What a gay and animated dance this has been, even M. l'Abbé there has been reading his prayers with holy joy and vigorous piety, but l confess I am getting very tired, and would be so grateful if somebody will find out for me if Eugen Borgensky is in the ballroom and ready to take me home."
"I will go and find him at once," said Count Gulohoff rising, "and will your Reverence," he added, turning to the Abbé, "give me my revenge at piquet? "
"Oh! ah! yes! Did your Excellency speak to me?" said his Reverence, as if waking from a dream. "Forgive me, I was enjoying half-an-hour's communion with the saints, which is most refreshing during the turmoil of a mundane gathering. What did your Excellency say? "
"I merely asked if you would care now to give me my revenge at piquet; if so, we had better go at once and secure a table before there is a rush for the cardroom."
"With all the pleasure in life," said the cheerful little Abbé, and putting his breviary into his pocket, he followed Count Gulohoff into the ballroom.
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