Chapter XVI · TEA WITH MADAME TEGOBORSKI.

Horace naturally wondered how it came to pass that Chesters should have spoken of the Wedderburn family or of their private interests to an utter stranger—a foreigner—a mere chance visitor, such as this pretended Captain of Zouaves in the redoubts before Balaclava; for the visit of Galitzin had been paid to them prior to the assault made by the Russians on the day of the battle there; but it only proved that the enmity of Chesters to Cyril was an ever-rankling subject, and the matter might have come about apropos of the misfortune which befel the latter at the Alma. And then the luckless Major of the Turkish Contingent had failed as yet to recognise in the turbaned Zouave his quondam gambling acquaintance; but the latter knew him only too well, and treasured up his secret vengeance. However the matter came to pass, Horace was certain of one thing, that the information of the needy Russian Prince as to Gwenny's fortune was unpleasantly accurate.

His next idea was, as to how he and she were to meet, and how to greet each other—betrothed lovers, who had been so long and so perilously parted—in the presence of Galitzin, after the openly-expressed views of that personage concerning her—views so suddenly and distinctly stated. For Horace knew that the Prince had nothing in the world but his sword, his epaulettes, and a truly Muscovite spirit for the most daring peculation; and he knew also how resolute, how cunning, and how savage he could be when roused.

And now, by the contingencies of war, this man was to become the arbiter of their destinies!

Longing, with all a young lover's ardour, to fold Gwenny in his arms, and to cover her sweet face and hands with kisses, he would, nevertheless, be compelled to appear before her as a stranger, and, as such, to be introduced by the Russian ogre, who had them both in his power.

It seemed intolerable and absurd, and times there were when Horace was on the point of saying boldly that the lady was his betrothed, his intended, and almost a kinswoman; but then prudence suggested that such a confidence might be unwise, and might, moreover, cause Galitzin to dispatch him, under escort, to Yekaterinoslav, if he did not dispatch him out of the world altogether. For Horace could not forget the fate of Ralph Chesters, and knew the refined cruelty of which the Prince was capable.

Gwenny, ere evening came, had got over much of her terror of the shipwreck; but her mind was still brooding with horror over the memory of the cannonade, the mangled and drowning seamen, and the strange manner in which she had been so rudely separated from her aunt and Lady Ernescleugh, and brought she knew not whither. But the Prince had pacified her for a time, by the assurance that when he could get a carriage worthy of conveying her, she should be also sent to Balaclava.

She was full of these things, and in no mood to construe, or attempt to understand Madame Tegoborski, who, as she could not speak English, addressed her in Russian, mingled with a few words of German, seeking to interest her in a certain handsome young "Capitaine Ramhornoff," whom she was soon to see, and whom Gwenny supposed to be some odious Russian, who ate tallow candles and took his morning libation of train oil.

Horace felt the absolute necessity of losing no time in letting her know the line of conduct they must adopt towards each other, lest she should become inspired by doubt or apprehension of his seeming coldness.

On the flyleaf of a Russian book he pencilled a few words in the smallest possible space, simply informing her that under the eyes which were on them there, they must seem to be only friends, not what they really were; and that, on the first opportunity, he should explain all; and he had barely achieved this tiny billet, when Galitzin appeared to inquire "If he was ready to accompany him and his aide-de-camp, the Lieutenant Kaminski?"

The Prince was in full uniform, with a pair of splendid epaulettes set very high upon his shoulders in the Russian fashion. He was evidently bent on making an impression, for he wore a gold embroidered waistbelt, and in addition to the order of St. Anne, had that of St. Andrew, an order founded by Peter the Great in 1699, and only bestowed on officers of high military degree. It was a blue enamelled saltire with the Muscovite eagle, and four initials, signifying Sanctus Andreas, Patronus Russiæ. Horace had only the poor remains of his red coat, on which none of the lace and few of the buttons remained; but he knew that to Gwenny's eye "the old red rag that tells of England's glory" would be dearer and more significant than the most splendid costume in the world. However, he felt that he cut but a sorry figure in comparison with Galitzin.

He was greatly agitated on entering the whitewashed vaulted chamber, which, in one of the old towers, passed as the drawing-room of Madame Tegoborski; but though the latter was there, and received Horace with a bland smile, and the Prince with a particularly bright one, Gwenny had not yet left her room, so the visitor glanced uneasily about him, after shaking the hand of the grim Pulkovnick, or Chef de Bataillon.

Most of the furniture in the apartment seemed strange to the eye, and extremely nautical in fashion; for save a piano, taken sans ceremonie from the house of an Armenian merchant at Alushta, most of it was the spoil of that hurricane in the Black Sea which strewed the shore with wrecks in the preceding November. Wafered on the wall were two Russian caricatures, which at that time were thought prime jokes. One represented John Bull in his well-known top boots, occupying an island so small that he had not room to turn in it, and which was divided into three parts, entitled "Leinster, Oxford, Cambridge." The other was a grotesque figure of Sir Charles Napier, presenting a fish from the Baltic Sea to the British Parliament, as the spoil of Cronstadt and Bomarsund.

An eikon or Byzantine Madonna stood in a corner, with metal halo like a gilt horseshoe around the head; but now there was a muslin veil drawn discreetly over it, lest it should see old Tegoborski become tipsy, or the Prince saluting Madame, which, we must admit, he was wont to do somewhat oftener than friendship warranted, or platonic affection required.

Madame Norina Paulovna Tegoborski, a stout and very fair woman, with a dazzling neck and bosom, was beautifully dressed in honour of the evening, and wore Schologoleff earrings, each like four tiny cannon-balls, a fashion adopted in honour of an imaginary artillery officer, who with only four guns, was alleged by the Russians to have sorely mauled and repulsed the allied fleets at Odessa! On her large, fair arms were glittering bracelets; but on this occasion she was fated to display her charms in vain.

The room door opened, there was the rustling of a dress, and Horace felt a mist before his eyes and a wild throbbing in his heart, as Gwenny, looking pale and startled, yet somewhat defiant in bearing, entered. The Prince hurried to kiss her hand, and next Madame Tegoborski hastened to present to her the Aide-de-camp Kaminski, and "le Capitaine Ramhornoff."

"Horace!" exclaimed the poor girl in utter bewilderment, "you here?"

"And you, Gwenny?" He clasped her hands, and—had death menaced them both, to resist the impulse was impossible—for a moment their flushed faces were pressed together, but the hands remained closely locked, while her agitation found relief in a flood of tears.

"The Prince has told me all," said Horace, "and more than I could wish to have heard."

"I certainly expected to see you in the Crimea—and dear Cyril too," said Gwenny, sobbing.

"Alas! I know nothing of him; I have been here for more than four months."

"We heard that he had left Scutari and joined the Fusileers again."

"Recovered?"

"Yes."

"Thank Heaven—poor Cyril."

"What is all this?—you are old friends, I find!" said the Prince, as Horace drew back (after contriving to slip his billet into the hand of Gwenny and to whisper, "Read at leisure"). "But, I suppose," he added, laughing, and pointing to one of the caricatures, "all the people in your little island know one another, it is so small."

For a traveller writes: "The notion that the great want of England is want of land, is a very popular one in Russia, where land is so plentiful in proportion to the population that no proprietor thinks of reckoning his fortune by his acres, but by the number of peasants he can put to cultivate them."

And now Horace and Gwenny sat on opposite sides of the room, their eyes and hearts full of each other; but all external emotion was repressed by the consciousness of publicity—the odious presence of strangers.

"And you were taken prisoner, my poor Horace?" said Gwenny, in a tender tone.

"Yes. In the dark amid the snow I fell into the hands of the enemy, in the night expedition to Tchorgoun."

"And hence the mystery of your disappearance and the total cessation of all letters. You know, of course, the catastrophe of last night and this morning?"

"I have heard all from poor Newnham and the Prince," replied Horace, in a sad voice.

Gwenny looked at him earnestly.

She could see that captivity, irritation, and the suspicions of Galitzin had done no good to Horace. His eyes, she thought, had lost much of their open, candid, and kind expression; they seemed sunken, furtive, and at times defiant and stern. He looked more manly, however, for campaigning and trench work had developed and hardened his frame; but he was bearded to the eyes, and tattered as a digger at Ballarat.

The figure of Gwenny, he thought, had attained more of the roundness of womanhood; her face was pale and pure as ever, her smile as winning, and her bearing as full of grace.

"Horace—Horace!" she exclaimed, with a touch of her old waggery, "such a coat you have—why, it is in absolute rags!"

"Yes, Gwenny; my kit is not at its best—or my wardrobe, I should have to say, were Aunt Wedderburn here; but the Cossacks took a fancy for the lace and most of the buttons; they appreciate finery, those fellows. But your own attire is rather odd. That dress never came from Swan and Edgar's!"

"It is a yellow silk of Madame Tegoborski's—as you see, a world too wide for me."

Galitzin, who was equally master of English as of French, laughed at these remarks. But now the samovar, or brass urn, made its appearance, hissing and hot, and the important business of the evening, tea drinking, commenced.

The four Russians all turned to the eikon and crossed themselves, while a servant poured out the tea, and another—a pretty Karaïte Jewess, whose white fereedjè gave additional lustre to her beautiful eyes—handed it round, with cakes and preserved fruit. It was served in crystal tumblers* for the four gentlemen, but in china cups for the two ladies; and the imbibing of this fluid is such a passion with the Russians, that in the Traktirs, or tea-houses, of Moscow and St. Petersburg, visitors have been known to take from twelve to twenty cups at a sitting,

Gwenny made more than one wry face over her cup, for in lieu of cream, a slice of lemon was floating in it. Old Pulkovnick Tegoborski added to his tumbler a good jorum of rum, and after having it filled five or six times, hobbled into a corner, where he proceeded to intrench himself behind the columns of the Moskauer Zeitung, and was soon enveloped in a cloud from his meerschaum. The Prince sat by the side of Gwenny and sought to draw all her attention to himself, while Madame Tegoborski looked at them vindictively over her tea equipage.

We have mentioned that the Pulkovnick was lame, and we may add that he became so in a very remarkable manner. He was the aide-de-camp whose foot—as M. de Custine relates—the Emperor Nicholas pinned to the floor with the point of his sword, to convince a distinguished foreigner how perfect was the submission of his officers!

A serf by birth, he had attained to the fifth tchinn, or grade of nobility, with his colonel's commission, through the oukase issued by Nicholas in 1842, when serfs were first permitted to make civil contracts and to hold property.