Chapter 12
Peterkin urged his tired horse on through the darkening streets of Paris, towards his master’s house. He wondered if Count Ivan would ask him where he had been. If so, he could tell the truth, in part, and say he had ‘been to see a lady’. The Count would no doubt think what he was meant to and ask no more. Peterkin thought of Yvette’s pointed little face, and he smiled inwardly. Perhaps he would not be far wrong?
He trotted in through the gates and handed his horse over to the groom, then hurried in through the side door, and up to his room. As he changed his dirty clothes, his mind was busy working out a way to broach the matter foremost in his thoughts. Poor Tanya, how she had suffered in her life! Surely if anyone deserved happiness, it was she. He was resolved, somehow, to bring the two together. He had just finished dressing when there was a knock on the door. Count Ivan’s valet stood outside.
‘Ah, Peterkin, you are returned. Good, good. The master has been asking for you all evening. Can you go to him now?’
‘Of course, where is he?’ answered Peterkin.
‘Downstairs, in the library. Dinner will be served shortly, you’d better hurry.’
Peterkin went quickly downstairs and knocked on the library door.
‘Enter,’ called the Count’s voice, and Peterkin hurried inside.
‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting, sir. I have but this moment returned and have come straight down.’
‘Most thoughtful of you,’ replied the Count dryly, and Peterkin’s heart sank at the sight of his stern, cold face. ‘May I enquire where you have been?’
Peterkin smiled nervously. ‘To . . . to visit a lady, sir,’ he replied.
The Count’s eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed? Are you not a little, er, young?’
‘I’m nearly eighteen, sir,’ replied Peterkin stoutly. ‘Not so young really.’
‘And was it worth the long ride? I understand your horse was lathered and spent.’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ replied Peterkin eagerly, wondering how he had found that out in so short a time. ‘Well worth it.’ He smiled slyly, and the Count relaxed a little.
‘Ah well, I shouldn’t blame you if you told me to go to the devil – though I wouldn’t recommend it. In fact, I almost envy you.’ He stared broodingly in front of him, then shrugged. ‘There is much work to be done. The Tsar has sent an emissary with messages for the King. I must go straight to see His Majesty, but the Tsar’s messages, as usual, leave much to be desired.’ He tossed a bag across the table, full of jumbled papers. ‘Can you be a good lad and sort that lot out – make it look presentable if you can? Nothing very interesting, just the usual interminable haggling over monies and lands. Can you bring it back to me here in an hour?’
The door closed behind Peterkin, and Ivan sighed, leaning back in his chair wearily.
‘Damn the woman,’ he muttered under his breath and reached for the bottle of brandy at his side. He had had enough to drink, he knew, but didn’t care. For over a week, he had been trying to erase from his mind the sight of Tanya’s white face, her lovely eyes hurt and brimming with tears, as he had seen her last. He gritted his teeth and jumped to his feet, pacing the room restlessly. What was it about her that he couldn’t forget her? From the first moment he had seen her, when she was the Princess Mensherikovsky, wife of his enemy, it had been as though he were bewitched. He had fought it, for she had been the wife of a traitor – perhaps even a traitor herself, though he doubted it somehow, she was not the sort for political scheming. At night, when he tried to sleep, his body would ache with desire when he remembered that magic night in the sordid room in the Kremlin. He would remember how badly he had treated her, how he had left her in that terrible dungeon. He still burned with shame when he thought of it. He had tried to convince himself he hated her, had lashed her with insults on almost every occasion they had met, and yet still he could not put her out of his mind. He had gone to her in her cell and made love to her there in the hope that it would exorcise her from his thoughts, prove her to be just another woman, and yet the effect had been the opposite. And now, when he had thought to come to France and start a new life away from Moscow and memories of her, he found her shamelessly flaunting herself with the King, the one man he was powerless to fight. Her words still echoed in his mind. ‘After all, what is a body for? It is a lovely body, isn’t it Ivan? Remember?’
Remember! How could he forget? God knows, he had tried. He had thrown himself into his work, doing enough for two men. He had involved himself with several women, but they did not help either. In fact, they made it worse, for they were not she, and he would find himself comparing them with her unfavourably. He clenched his hands until a sudden crack brought him back to the present, and he stared in bewilderment at the shattered glass in his hand. Even Peterkin, it seemed, had more luck than he. With an impatient shrug, he threw the pieces of glass into the grate and bound his handkerchief round his hand. He had finished the brandy bottle when Peterkin returned with the papers, sorted and ready for the King. Peterkin looked at him anxiously, eyeing the empty bottle.
‘Pardon me, sir, but . . . are you going to the King now?’
‘Yes,’ snapped Ivan and laughed bitterly. ‘Don’t worry, Peterkin, I’m not drunk – though sometimes I wish to God I were.’
He left the room, and Peterkin sighed, shaking his head. It looked as though his self-imposed task was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.
How much more difficult he was soon to find out. A week later, his master returned from the Court, his face glowering with rage. Peterkin ventured to ask what was amiss and almost got his head snapped off.
‘If you must know, your precious Tanya, the strumpet, is back. I thought she wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. It made me sick to see the King fawning all over her – at his age too, he should be ashamed. Anyway, I should have thought he would have had better taste than a whore like her.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Peterkin in consternation, discounting the last piece of this impassioned speech. ‘But she promised . . .’ he broke off, scarlet, and Ivan rounded on him.
‘Not you too, by, God. Is she cradle snatching now? Was that where you went for your amorous adventure?’
‘No, sir, no,’ cried Peterkin in distress. ‘At least, yes, that was where I went, but I didn’t . . . as if you could think she would look at me in that way. I went to see her maid, Yvette.’
‘Then why all the secrecy?’ demanded Ivan. ‘And you did see her too, admit it.’
‘Yes, sir, of course I did. She’s . . . she’s like a sister to me. I love her as a sister, and she looks on me only as a friend. You must know that, sir. Her heart, I know, belongs to only one person, for she honoured me with her confidence.’
‘Indeed?’ jeered Ivan. ‘I only hope he knows what to do with it. Heart indeed! I don’t believe she has one.’
Peterkin took a deep breath. The time, although not chosen by him, was undoubtedly now.
‘It is not to His Majesty that I refer, sir. You must forgive me for my effrontery, but as one who loves you both, you must make allowances for my frankness. The lady Tanya did, once, I believe, tell you that she loved you.’
‘Yes and split my head open afterwards for all that,’ interrupted the Count wryly.
‘True, but the circumstances being what they were, one could hardly blame her,’ countered Peterkin. ‘Well, sir, she told me that she still feels the same towards you – has always felt the same since she first saw you – although she believes it to be hopeless, indeed, thinks that you hate and revile her. She made me promise not to tell you anything of our conversation. Well, I break that promise now, and with a clear conscience. The poor little thing was pining away down there. Her heart was breaking when she told me what happened at Versailles.’
‘By God, is there anything you don’t know,’ thundered the Count, his eyes kindling.
Peterkin stood his ground. ‘Very little, sir. In fact, begging your pardon, I seem to know a deal more about it than you.’
‘Now you go too far,’ cried Ivan, losing his temper. ‘You must know, then, that she admitted to my face she was the King’s mistress – even revelled in it.’
‘She lost her temper, sir, that’s all. Don’t we all at some time or another?’ he added, eyeing his master’s angry face. ‘She said the first thing that came into her head. Of course, she isn’t the King’s mistress, she couldn’t be, she’s not the type. I’m not saying that he isn’t putting every pressure on her to become so, but she won’t. Why, she swore to me she had not let a man touch her since . . .’ he broke off, colouring. ‘Well, that’s neither here nor there. The thing is, I believed every word she said and would stake my soul on her honesty and goodness.’
‘Peterkin,’ the Count spoke with deadly calm, and the boy wilted visibly. ‘I shall ignore the insolence you have shown in speaking to me as you have done – no doubt your motives are the best, but tell me one thing. If what you say is true, why has she come back to Court – back to the King?’
Peterkin looked down at his feet and shook his head miserably.
‘I don’t know, sir. She told me she was going to stay at her country estate until I – that is . . .’ he trailed off and shot an anxious look at the Count.
‘Until you had talked me into going to her? Is that it? I am not such a fool, believe me.’
‘No, no, it was not like that at all. She made me promise not to plead for her with you – she’s too proud for that. I’ve made a mess of everything, and I wanted so much for you both to be happy.’
Ivan’s face softened, and he clapped Peterkin on the shoulder.
‘It’s not your fault, lad, you’ve just been deceived in her that’s all. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last to be taken in by a pretty face.’
Peterkin’s head shot up. ‘No,’ he said fiercely. ‘It’s you who have been deceived, not I. One day you will learn the real truth – the truth she told to me, in a squalid little hovel in the slums of Moscow. I was only a child and didn’t understand then all her story. But I do now. It is not mine to tell you, but perhaps, one day, you may know the grave injustice you do her. I only hope and pray, for both your sakes, that it will not then be too late.’
He bowed stiffly and, without awaiting permission, almost ran from the room.
Ivan stared after him blindly, then sank down into a chair and buried his face in his hands. Then, with an impatient exclamation, he strode out into the hall, snatched his cloak and hat from the startled footman hovering there, and, without even calling for his coach, disappeared into the darkness of the Paris streets.
Two hours later, he emerged from yet another dingy tavern and stood swaying in the doorway. He had consumed far more than was usual for him, and the raw spirit made his brain seem to work more slowly. He gazed around uncertainly, then his eyes fell on the lighted windows of another tavern, just across the road, and walking over, he pushed the door open and entered. By now, his appearance caused no comment, for his fine shirt was soiled and his cloak muddied. Apart from a few casual glances, his entry went unnoticed. He sat down at a corner table and focused his tired eyes across the smoke-filled room. An old man served him, puffing away at a revolting looking pipe. He poured out a drink and, tossing it back, leaned back in his chair, passing his hand across his eyes. Slowly, the conversation that was being held at the next table penetrated his consciousness.
‘What do their sort care for us, eh, answer me that?’ shrilled a hideous old crone, her clawed fingers clenched around her glass. ‘Hangers on, the lot of ’em, idling away their lives while the rest of us slave to keep them. The King, now, God bless ’im, he’s God’s anointed after all.’ She sniffed and spat sideways on to the floor. ‘And the Queen, misused, that’s what she was, God rest her soul. One after the other he’s had. Surprised he ain’t done himself in, flogging away all night, and all day too, wouldn’t be surprised. You’d think he was past it now, wouldn’t you? There he was, settled down all lovey-dovey with the Scarron widow, when along comes the new piece and upsets it all.’ She cackled hideously. ‘She’s still ’olding him off, though.’
Ivan’s head swung round sharply, and he almost dropped his glass.
‘Who do you mean, the Russian wench?’ asked the crone’s companion, an unsavoury looking character with only one eye.
‘None other,’ replied the hag. ‘My niece’s daughter works in the palace kitchens, and there’s not nothing that she don’t know before all them fine lords and ladies. Ah well, unless he’s changed, it won’t be for long. In the old days, once he got his eye on a wench, there was no holding him. He was in a fine rage when she ’opped it into the country – he sent a messenger out after her, according to Megs, who ain’t often wrong, I may add. Seems he ordered her back, because she turned up a week later, and I’m betting he’s getting his money’s worth right now, if what they say about him’s true. Though what she wanted to run off for, I don’t know, nor no one else, neither. I mean, you don’t pass up a chance like that, now do you?’
‘Tell you what,’ cried her companion, banging down his tankard. ‘Who’ll take a bet she’s on her back for him right now – come on, who’s betting?’
He got no further, for he found himself lifted up by the greasy handkerchief around his neck and shaken like a rat.
‘Swine, filth,’ shouted the Count, shaking him until his teeth rattled.
The old crone jumped to her feet, screeching. ‘Take your ’ands off him, get off. Hey, maties, lend an ’and, old Jean’s getting throttled.’
Three large ruffians descended upon Ivan, and dropping the little man, he turned, reaching for his sword. Cursing, he remembered he hadn’t bothered to put it on, and glancing swiftly round, snatched up a chair and broke it across the head of the nearest man. All hell broke loose as men began throwing wild punches, and fighting broke out all over the room. The old hag was still yelling shrilly, until someone knocked her off her feet. Head clearer now, Ivan began fighting his way over to the door. Someone’s fist caught him a glancing blow over the eye, then he was pulling the door open, breathing the fresh night air thankfully. He staggered down a side alley and was promptly sick. The bottle of brandy he had consumed earlier, coupled with the cheap spirits he had been drinking, had just been too much. He straightened up, ruefully fingering the bruise beginning to form over his eye. He grinned to himself at the thought of the sight he must look and started off in the direction of home. He was almost turned away by his own footman, before the man recognised him. The sound of raised voices brought Peterkin out into the hall. With a horrified exclamation, he started forward.
‘Count, are you all right? Whatever’s happened, was it footpads?’
To his utter consternation, the Count doubled over and roared with laughter.
‘Damn me, Peterkin, if you could just see your faces,’ he gasped. ‘Do I look that bad?’
‘Frankly, sir, yes,’ replied Peterkin, grinning in sympathy. ‘Do come upstairs, you’ll have half the household thinking you’ve run mad.’ The Count looked at him strangely.
‘No, Peterkin, I think I have been mad, but I’m not any more. Order a bath for me, will you? God, but I stink.’
Peterkin followed his master upstairs, his thoughts in a whirl. The Count seemed to have shed years and was springing up the stairs two at a time. He beckoned Peterkin to follow him into his chamber and began stripping off his soiled and torn clothes. He looked across at the boy, and Peterkin was taken aback by the look of blazing joy in his eyes. In all the time he had known him, Peterkin had never seen him look like that.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I’ve been doing?’ he asked.
‘If . . . if you want me to, sir,’ replied Peterkin hesitantly.
‘I’ve been protecting a fair lady’s good name, my lad.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘Apparently it’s common knowledge even in the slums of Paris that the King’s latest love will have none of him. I was a fool not to listen to you, but I won’t make the same mistake again. It needed something like this to bring me to my senses. Tomorrow, Peterkin, I go to Court – tomorrow I go to her, if she’ll have me.’
* * * *
Tanya stood nervously in the ante chamber, waiting for the King to come to her. She had been ordered here for this interview the same evening she had arrived in Paris. She had barely had time to change her travelling dress and tidy herself, before a coach arrived to take her to the King. Her thoughts were confused, and she felt tired out. Her hands were shaking, and she clasped them together, her shoulders drooping.
‘What a picture of dejection,’ said a dry voice behind her. ‘Is it so bad to be summoned to your King?’
Tanya turned slowly, feeling almost calm now. She curtsied low and remained at his feet, head bowed. He reached down and raised her up, retaining her hands.
‘Tanya, Tanya,’ he spoke caressingly. ‘Why did you run away like that? You made me very angry you know. Do you not love your King?’
‘Of course, sire,’ she answered softly. ‘Every good subject loves their King.’
He gave an impatient exclamation and, dropping her hands, began to pace the room.
‘Is there no getting through that barrier you have around you? What must I do to make you look at me as a man? For I am a man, Tanya, and one who loves and desires you. Aye, desire,’ he repeated as she made an involuntary movement away from him. ‘I meant to be cold and formal with you, you know, but here I am, pleading like a lovelorn lad.’ He pulled her forward into his arms, gazing down at her passionately.
‘I don’t know what it is about you, but I only know I want you, I must have you.’ He put his hand under her chin, forcing her face up, then kissed her, gently at first, then with mounting passion. She lay passive in his arms, her lips cold as ice against his, then as his fingers began to fumble at her bodice, she broke away, sobbing. He went white and drew back, head raised haughtily.
‘Am I then so distasteful to you?’ he asked harshly.
‘No, sire, oh no. Please try to understand. If . . . if my heart were free, Sire, I should give it to you gladly. My body, I cannot stop you taking, for does it not belong to you? But my heart can never be yours.’
He looked at her frowningly. ‘May I enquire the name of the fortunate man?’
‘Oh, pray do not ask me, Sire. I can only tell you that the man in question does not return my feelings.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Indeed, I believe he despises me, but still, I can never love another.’ She turned to him imploringly. ‘Try to have patience with me, dear Sire, for try as I can, I cannot forget him.’
Louis’s face softened. ‘Poor child,’ he said softly. ‘You almost make me feel ashamed. Very well, I shall not press you, but mistake me not, I shall have you in the end. I cannot force you to give me your body, that is not my way, I want no unwilling mistress. Only know, I am not a patient man. I shall wait a while and give you time. I wish you to remain here at Court. Tomorrow, we hunt at Versailles, and I shall look for you there. You have our permission to leave.’
Tanya curtsied again and hurried from the room, hardly able to believe her escape. She had thought herself lost, then, for if she became in truth what Ivan had called her, she could not bear to live with herself. Her heart heavy, she had her coach summoned and was soon alone in her room, facing another sleepless night.
She arose at dawn, for to hunt with the King meant leaving very early. She dressed herself carefully in a velvet habit of dull gold, somehow feeling that if she looked her best, she would be better able to face the day and what it might bring. She took her open carriage, for the day was fine, the early mists promising good weather to come. Her groom followed on her hunter, and Yvette accompanied her in the carriage. The roads were very bad, and the coach bumped and bounced over the ruts. Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and the carriage lurched, toppling the occupants over. The wheel shaft had snapped completely, leaving the carriage almost on its side in the ditch.
Cursing, the coachman looked over his shoulder.
‘Begging your pardon, m’lady, but I’m afraid the wheel shafts broke.’
‘I can see that for myself, fool,’ snapped Tanya, trying to calm a hysterical Yvette, who had almost been thrown from the carriage. ‘Pull yourself together, girl,’ she cried, shaking her.
‘Sorry, m’lady, it frightened me awful.’
‘Is it repairable?’ asked Tanya.
‘’Fraid not, m’lady, not here anyways,’ replied the coachman, shaking his head dolefully.
‘Well, don’t sit there like an idiot, unharness the horses. My groom and Yvette can ride those back – you can walk,’ she said callously. ‘I’ll take my hunter and go on to the hunt alone. Go on, now.’
By the time she had seen the three off back on the road to Paris, the hour was well advanced, and her temper thoroughly raised. She reached the place where the hunt usually met, but there was no sign of anyone. Far in the distance, she could hear a horn sounding and knew the hunt was already in full cry. She felt not the slightest desire to chase after them and was about to dismount and await their return when the sound of hooves, galloping fast, came to her ears. She swung round in the saddle and, in the distance, saw a big chestnut bearing down on her. She felt no desire at all for company, wishing only to be alone, so dug her heels into her horse’s sides and galloped off through the woods. She glanced over her shoulder and saw her pursuer gaining on her. She felt strangely exhilarated by the chase and urged her mount recklessly on. She knew she was going too fast over the thickly wooded ground, but her blood was up. She could faintly hear a voice shouting behind her, but merely laughed, then next moment, her horse somehow stumbled, and suddenly, she was flying through the air. Her breath was knocked out of her, and she was stunned by the fall, but luckily, she had landed on thick, soft undergrowth, and so escaped injury. She tried to sit up but went dizzy and sank back with a groan. The next moment, someone was lifting her up in their arms and covering her face with kisses. She shrank away dazedly, murmuring, ‘No, no, leave me alone, I am saving myself for him.’
‘For . . . him?’ asked a soft voice in her ear, and still half stunned, Tanya replied, ‘Yes, for him, for the man I love – for Ivan.’ Then she came to her senses and struggled, trying to push the unknown away. She heard an exultant laugh and, with an exclamation, opened her eyes. She found herself staring up into Ivan’s face, and his eyes were glowing with the look she had yearned for from the first moment she had seen him – glowing with such a tender love that her heart turned over in her breast. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming and put up a trembling hand to touch his face.
‘Yes, my love, ’tis I. I have come to my senses at last. I have wasted so much of our lives – can you find it in your heart to forgive me, can we start all over again, Tanya? Will you have me, after the way I have treated you and hurt you?’
Her eyes lit up with such a blaze of joy that his breath caught in his throat, and with a strangled cry, he lifted her up high against his heart and kissed her gently, then more and more urgently. Tanya’s heart felt as though it would burst with joy. She could scarcely believe that this was not another of her dreams, when he held her in his arms and kissed her like this. But it was too real, too beautiful to be a dream. With a shaky laugh, she held his face in her hands, gazing adoringly up at him.
‘Ivan, Ivan, what are you doing here, of all places? And why have you changed your mind about me? The last time we met . . .’ she broke off, and her eyes clouded over. He put his fingers over her mouth, shaking his head. ‘Do not speak of that awful night. We will never mention it again. I must have been mad, I think I have been mad all my life until now. The reason I am here is to find you, to tell you that I love you, that I have always loved you. I almost admitted it once, that night in Moscow when you escaped. I was ready then to give up everything to take you away to safety, but you were gone before I had the chance. I wouldn’t admit it to myself before, but I know it now.’
He kissed her again, fiercely, demandingly, and, her senses swimming, Tanya gave herself up to him for the second time in her life. But how much more beautiful it was this time, here in the fresh air and sunshine, with love in their hearts. They gave themselves to each other completely, revelling in the delights of love, and afterwards, held tight in her lover’s arms, Tanya felt so deliriously happy, it almost frightened her. Surely such happiness was not for this world?
Far away in the distance, a hunting horn sounded and brought them back to their surroundings. With a shaky laugh, she sat up, straightening her tumbled clothes, blushing like a young girl.
‘Oh Ivan, we must be mad, making love in the King’s forest, with the hunt going on around us.’
He jumped up, and pulling her to her feet, swung her up in his arms. ‘Maybe so, my love. Let me take you away from it all – from the forest, and the King.’
She glanced nervously up at him, afraid to see the grim look back in his eyes, but he was smiling gently at her. ‘Never fear, sweet Tanya, I know you are blameless. One day, I shall tell you how it all came about, as I hope you will tell me the story that Peterkin knows, and I do not. But for the present, I want to take you away, somewhere where we can be completely alone, can get to know one another all over again. And there is nothing – nothing at all that I do not wish to know about you.’ His eyes lingered on her with an expression that made her blush again, then he swung her up on his horse and mounted behind her. ‘We had better find your horse, we can scarcely ride all the way back to Paris like this – though I feel I could ride to the ends of the earth with you clasped in my arms this way.’
They found Tanya’s horse grazing not far away, and luckily he seemed to be unhurt. She mounted, and together they rode out of the forest, and back along the road to Paris. As they reached the outskirts, they slowed their horses to a walk.
‘Unfortunately, my duties as ambassador preclude any hope of us going off somewhere together, my love,’ said Ivan quietly. ‘But – would it be presumptuous of me to hope that I may come to you whenever I can?’
She clasped the hand he held out to her and smiled tremulously. ‘Surely you need not ask that question, Ivan. You know the answer already. I can never be happy again if I am separated from you. But there will be trouble from the King. I rode to the hunt on his orders, and I may as well tell you that last night he . . . I, well, he tried once again to make me become his mistress. I managed to hold him off by telling him that my heart belonged to someone else, and that I could never give it to him.’ She gave him a warm look and smiled shyly. ‘You will know now of whom I was speaking. But – oh Ivan, I’m afraid. He says he will wait, but that he always gets what he wants in the end, and that he will have me. What shall we do?’
He gazed frowningly ahead. ‘Play it by ear, I think,’ then he scowled suddenly.
‘For once in his life, His Majesty will find that he does not get what he wants, King or no King. You are mine from now on, and nobody else’s. We will find a way, never fear. I think the best thing to do is to continue on as you are, giving as little encouragement as possible and keeping out of his way as much as you can. I have come to know Madame de Maintenon quite well during my visits to the Court, and I think a quiet word in her ear may yet help us considerably. She still has a tremendous amount of influence with the King, who I am sure still loves her. After all, it is in her interests too to detach the King from your side. If I tell her just as much as she needs to know, I think she may just work this thing out for us. You leave it to me, my love. You need never be afraid of anyone or anything any more, now I am here to look after you.’
So began for Tanya a time of such happiness that sometimes she would feel that it was all too much, that such an idyllic existence could not last, then she would feel the old fears creeping upon her again. But as soon as she was with Ivan, held safe in his arms, they would disappear like the early morning mists. She had waited too long for happiness, had it snatched from her grasp so many times, that she lived each day as though it were her last, made each meeting with her lover like the first. It seemed they could never tire of one another – each was miserable when apart from the other, and people who before had admired Tanya, now had their breath taken away by the sheer, glowing joy that made her, if possible, twice as lovely as before. She still had to make appearances at Court, of course, and they even had to meet and, perforce, act as strangers at Court, for they dared not let Louis know of how things stood between them. Ivan had let Madame de Maintenon into their secret, but she, apart from Peterkin and Yvette of course, was the only one who knew. That she had had words with the King was evident, for although Louis still obviously admired Tanya, he had not again attempted to get her alone, and some of his first passion seemed to have spent itself. He spent more time with his morganatic wife, and the courtiers began to exchange glances, and simper behind their hands when Tanya passed, whispering that she had not been able after all to snare the King. Tanya, however, was not even aware of their existence, so wrapped up was she in her new-found happiness. Only one small cloud marred the horizon of her love. Not once had Ivan mentioned marriage. She told herse