The Daughter of an Empress

The count lay stretched out upon the divan, playing with the knout,

whose leathern thongs were still dripping with his servant's blood.

"Let a courier take horse immediately, and give him the order

countersigned by her imperial majesty for the arrest of Count Paulo

Rasczinsky. The courier will follow him with it to the Russian frontier,

and then by virtue of this order arrest him at the next station and send

him to St. Petersburg in chains! This is the command for the courier; he

will answer with his head for its execution!"

One of the officers bowed, and went to dispatch the courier.

"Is our reconnoitrer returned?" asked the count of the two who remained.

"He is."

"What news brings he? Does he know the cause of the murderous attack

at the festival of the French cardinal? Yet why do I ask you? Make

yourselves scarce, and let him come to speak for himself!"

The officers were no sooner gone, than a wild-looking, bearded churl

made his appearance upon the threshold of the door and greeted the count

with a grinning laugh.

"What know you of the murderous attack?" asked the count, in Italian.

"A friend of mine was charged with the affair," said the bravo. "He is

in the pay of the most holy Cardinal Albani. We served long together

under the same chief, and I know him intimately. He carries the most

skilful dagger in all Rome, and it is the greatest wonder that he missed

on this occasion."

"Was it done by order of the cardinal?"

"No! The lord cardinal had lent this bravo to the celebrated

improvisatrice Corilla--the order came from her."

"It is well!" said the count. "Do you know all the bravi in Rome?"

"All, your excellency. They are all my good friends."

"Well, now listen to what I have to say to you. You must hold the life

of the Princess Tartaroff as sacred as your own! Know that she is no

moment unwatched; that wherever she appears she is surrounded by secret

protectors. Whoever touches her is lost--my arm will reach him! Say that

to your friends, and tell them that the Russian count keeps his word.

Four thousand sequins are yours in four weeks, if until then the

princess meets with no accident. Away with you, and forget not my

words!"

"Ah, these words, your excellency, are worth four thousand sequins, and

these one does not so easily forget!" said the bandit, leaving the room.

Again the count rang, and ordered his private secretary, Stephano, to be

called.

"Stephano," said the count to him, "the first step is taken toward the

accomplishment of our object. The work must succeed; I have pledged

my word for it to the empress, and who can say that Alexis Orloff ever

failed to redeem his word? This princess is mine! Count Paulo Rasczinsky

is just now leaving Rome, and she has no one to protect her!"