taken place.”
McShane did so; and O’Donahue, after a little thought, replied, “Well, I don’t know: perhaps it’s all for the best; for you see I must have trusted somebody, and the difficulty would have been to know whom to trust, for everybody belongs to the police here, I believe: I think, myself, the fellow is honest; at all events, I can make it worth his while to be so.”
“He would not have told me he belonged to the police if he wished to trap us,” replied McShane.
“That’s very true, and on the whole I think we could not do better. But we are going on too fast; who knows whether she meant anything by what she said to me when we parted; or, if she did then, whether she may not have altered her mind since?”
“Such things have been—that’s a fact, O’Donahue.”
“And will be, as long as the world lasts. However, to-morrow I am to be presented—perhaps I may see her. I’m glad that I know that I may chance to meet her, as I shall now be on my guard.”
“And what shall I say to Dimitri?”
“Say that you mentioned her name, and where she was, and that I had only replied, that I should like to see her again.”
“Exactly; that will leave it an open question, as the saying is,” replied McShane.
The next day O’Donahue, in his uniform, drove to the ambassador’s hotel, to accompany him to the Annishkoff palace, where he was to be presented to the emperor. O’Donahue was most graciously received, the emperor walking up to him, as he stood in the circle, and inquiring after the health of his Royal Highness the Commander-in-Chief, what service he had been employed upon, etcetera. He then told O’Donahue that the Empress would be most glad to make his acquaintance, and hoped that he would make a long stay at Saint Petersburg.
It was with a quickened pulse that O’Donahue followed the ambassador into the empress’s apartments. He had not waited there more than five minutes, in conversation with the ambassador when the doors opened, and the empress, attended by her chamberlain, and followed by her ladies in waiting and maids of honour, entered the room. O’Donahue had made up his mind not to take his eyes off the empress until the presentation was over. As soon as he had kissed hands, and answered the few questions which were graciously put to him, he retired to make room for others, and then, for the first time, did he venture to cast his eyes on the group of ladies attending the empress. The first that met his view were unknown, but, behind all the rest, he at length perceived the Princess Czartorinski, talking and laughing with another lady. After a short time she turned round, and their eyes met. The princess recognised him with a start, and then turned away and put her hand up to her breast, as if the shock had taken away her breath. Once more she turned her face to O’Donahue, and this time he was fully satisfied by her looks that he was welcome. Ten minutes after, the ambassador summoned O’Donahue, and they quitted the palace.
“I have seen her, McShane,” said O’Donahue; “she is more beautiful, and I am more in love than ever. And now, what am I to do?”
“That’s just the difficulty,” replied McShane. “Shall I talk with Dimitri, or shall I hold my tongue, or shall I think about it while you go to dinner at the ambassador’s?”
“I cannot dine out to-day, McShane. I will write an excuse.”
“Well, now, I do believe you’re in for it in good earnest. My love never spoiled my appetite; on the contrary, it was my appetite that made me fall in love.”
“I wish she had not been a princess,” said O’Donahue, throwing himself on the sofa.
“That’s nothing at all here,” replied McShane. “A princess is to be had. Now, if she had been a general it would have been all up with you. Military rank is everything here, as Dimitri says.”
“She’s an angel,” replied O’Donahue, with a sigh.
“That’s rank in heaven, but goes for nothing in Petersburg,” replied McShane. “Dimitri tells me they’ve civil generals here, which I conceive are improvements on our staff, for devil a civil general I’ve had the pleasure of serving under.”
“What shall I do,” said O’Donahue, getting up and preparing to write his note to the ambassador.
“Eat your dinner, drink a bottle of champagne, and then I’ll come and talk it over with you, that’s all you can do at present. Give me the note, and I’ll send Dimitri off with it at once, and order up your dinner.”
McShane’s advice not being very bad, it was followed. O’Donahue had finished his dinner, and was sitting by the fire with McShane, when there was a knock at the door. McShane was summoned, and soon returned, saying, “There’s a little fellow that wants to speak with you, and won’t give his message. He’s a queer little body, and not so bad-looking either, with a bolster on the top of his head, and himself not higher than a pillow; a pigeon could sit upon his shoulder and peck up peas out of his shoes; he struts like a grenadier, and, by the powers! a grenadier’s cap would serve as an extinguisher for him. Shall I show him in?”
“Certainly,” replied O’Donahue.
The reader may not be aware that there is no part of the globe where there are so many dwarfs as at Saint Petersburg; there is scarcely an hotel belonging to a noble family without one or two, if not more; they are very kindly treated, and are, both in appearance and temper, very superior to the dwarfs occasionally met with elsewhere. One of this diminutive race now entered the room, dressed in a Turkish costume; he was remarkably well made and handsome in person; he spoke sufficient French to inquire if he addressed himself to Captain O’Donahue; and on being replied to in the affirmative, he gave him a small billet, and then seated himself on the sofa with all the freedom of a petted menial. O’Donahue tore open the note; it was very short:—
“As I know you cannot communicate with me, I write to say that I was delighted at your having kept your promise. You shall hear from me again as soon as I know where I can meet you; in the meantime, be cautious. The bearer is to be trusted; he belongs to me.
O’Donahue pressed the paper to his lips, and then sat down to reply. We shall not trouble the reader with what he said; it is quite sufficient that the lady was content with the communication, and also at the report from her little messenger of the Captain’s behaviour when he had read her billet.
Two or three days afterwards, O’Donahue received a note from a German widow lady, a Countess Erhausen, particularly requesting he would call upon her in the afternoon, at three o’clock. As he had not as yet had the pleasure of being introduced to the countess, although he had often heard her spoken of in the first society, O’Donahue did not fail in his appointment, as he considered that it was possible that the Princess Czartorinski might be connected with it; nor was he deceived, for on his entering the saloon, he found the princess sitting on the sofa with Madame Erhausen, a young and pretty woman, not more than twenty-five years of age. The princess rose, and greeted Captain O’Donahue, and then introduced the countess as her first cousin. A few minutes after his introduction, the countess retired, leaving them alone. O’Donahue did not lose this opportunity of pouring out the real feelings of his heart.
“You have come a long way to see me, Captain O’Donahue, and I ought to be grateful,” replied the princess: “indeed, I have much pleasure in renewing our acquaintance.”
O’Donahue, however, did not appear satisfied with this mere admission: he became eloquent in his own cause, pointed out the cruelty of having brought him over to see her again if he was not to be rewarded,
