Listen, father! I am fifty-five years old and ill; the fancy has come to me to tell you a story that happened twenty years ago and has never passed my lips till now.

Move your chair a little––––so.

I remember quite well the first time I saw him. He stood aside to let me pass, flushing and paling like a girl and saluting with the uncertainty of embarrassment as I crossed the hall on the way to the carriage. I paused and asked his name, attracted by the boyish reverence for his sovereign in the great black eyes that met mine.

He told me, stammering over the simple answer, and I learned he was the last of an old line, only twenty-two, and fresh from the naval training school.

He pleased me strangely and I stationed him at the capital, thinking it would be pleasant to have him near me.

If I had only known––––

Others might feel regret, even remorse, but am I not the emperor? With such ideas I have no concern; yet I think of him sometimes when I would rather forget.

He soon outgrew his shyness in the atmosphere of our gay court. Before long the young Count Cernief was one of the most popular men in the city. Frank, happy, of good family, with a striking dark beauty of his own, I was not the only one who liked him.

In the next three years I sent him from the capital just once. He fretted a little at the inaction, I heard, but never ventured a word of remonstrance to me. Had I not a right to keep him for my amusement; he was my subject?

But towards the end of the third year all signs of restlessness ceased abruptly.

Cernief grew abstracted and started vaguely when anyone spoke to him. I was more amused than ever, evidently my favorite was in love.

I waited a few months for his announcement in vain, and then asked him one day who the lady was.

To my surprise he denied that he was engaged.

“Very well,” I said jestingly, “then we will find you a wife, Cernief. Remember your name must not die out.”

He stared at me a moment in consternation and vehemently begged me not to do so, to leave him free.

“Then there is a lady,” I observed.

He replied rather incoherently that it had been a wild dream on his part, an impossibility, that he had cousins who could take the name.

I shrugged my shoulders and let the subject drop. He was a very small incident in my daily life; a plaything.

But that evening I entered the ballroom unexpectedly before the usual hour, and I saw Cernief start from the Princess Sophia’s side and draw back with a swift glance in my direction.

The strangeness of the action struck me at once: there was no reason why he should not speak to her or why he should look apprehensively at me. The princess was my fiancée, our wedding was to take place in a few weeks, surely it was natural for my favorite officer to be with her.

I was puzzled and cast a searching glance at Cernief as we passed. His eyes fell before mine for the first time. Sophia received me with an air of nervous abstraction that completed my wonder.

I was not a youth, and I loved her, father.

From Sophia’s fair lovelines, I looked across at Cernief, dark, radiant, young. In the mirror opposite I saw a sallow figure with prematurely gray hair seated in a massive chair that dwarfed its slight proportions. The cares of empire age soon.

The scene of the morning recurred to me slowly, Cernief’s vague allusions to an impossible love and denial of an engagement.

I knew of no lady in the court who would not have been flattered by his attentions and yet he had spoken despairingly.

From that hour I had no doubt, but I waited until it was a certainty. The jealousy of my race is no slight thing to curb; while I watched the glances, the thousand little things that betrayed a secret understanding between them, all that I outwardly suppressed grew to a wrath within of which you can have no conception.

As yet only a boy and girl affection, I believed separation would cure Sophia, at least, and for that separation I laid my plans. Absolute power as I held, it was necessary to use caution. I did not blame Sophia much, or intend that she should ever suspect my knowledge. She was romantic and fickle like all women; the fault was Cernief’s. Even he must never know what he was punished for; it did not accord with my dignity to admit I could have a rival.

When all was ready I sent for him. I laughed aloud and paced the floor impatiently as I waited, but at the sound of approaching steps I returned to my chair and resumed the mask of self-control.

Why do you tell your rosary, father, I have scarcely commenced.

I did not speak immediately, studying him as he stood before me, tall and straight in his uniform, with smiling lips and frank eyes. He never looked like that again.

One would have almost sworn that there was affection in his glance as it met mine.

But gradually his expression changed before my intent gaze. I do not imagine my face was pleasant in spite of my interior satisfaction.

“You appear agitated, Count Cernief,” I said finally.

“I fear I have incurred your displeasure, sire,” he answered.

For years I had called him Adrian and the formal address added to his confusion.

“I am sorry to have you admit it,” I replied.

He flushed.

“Pardon me, sire, I am ignorant of how. I simply inferred––––”

“Your conscience failed you?” I interrupted. “While aware there is always some anarchy going on in this country, I hardly expected to find one of its disciples in Count Cernief.”

I paused to watch the effect of my words.

He looked at me incredulously, slowly paling.

“You do well not to deny it,” I continued coldly, “I have proof that cannot be contradicted.”

“But I do deny it, sire,” he cried. “It is not true. Your majesty jests, there can be no proof.”

“One of your accomplices has confessed,” I returned unmoved.

“My accomplices! I have no accomplices!” he exclaimed indignantly. “Sire, you cannot mean this. I, who have been at your side so long, who owe you so much, I plot against your majesty. It is horrible!”

“It is indeed,” I answered.

He shrank from my tone as if I had struck him.

“I agree that all this makes it worse,” I went on, “and am surprised that you recall it to me. I assure you it is not necessary. For the sake of the name you bear I will not disgrace you publicly, but privately––––” again I paused to enjoy his white dazed face. “You are under arrest, Count Cernief.”

He uttered a sharp exclamation and sank on his knee at my feet.

“Sire, it is not true!” he cried fiercely, his clear voice ringing through the room. “On my honor as a gentleman, on my faith as a Christian, it is not true. I am loyal to you in heart and deed. I an anarchist! Will some enemy’s sword outweigh my whole course of life? Will you not believe me, sire?”

“No,” I answered and pulled the bell.

He hid his face in his hands and I looked down in silence at the bent dark head.

The tramp of approaching men aroused us both. He rose slowly and unbuckling his sword laid it on the table at my side.

The officer who entered had already received his orders and Cernief offered no resistance. But before he left the room he looked at me once more with an expression so earnest in its despairing truth that my heart almost failed me. Then the recollection of how much greater his real crime was than the one of which he was falsely accused came to restore my firmness. He deserved all I could do; did it matter under what name I punished him?

That evening I ordered the Novgorado on a long cruise to the tropics, and let it be supposed that Cernief had sailed with her. It was not my intention to give Sophia cause to pity him; a woman can be more constant in pity than in love.

A week passed; Sophia appeared preoccupied and thoughtful. I lost all sympathy for my prisoner, if indeed I had ever felt it.

At the end of the week I summoned him before me again.

This time he leaned on his guard’s arm as he entered. Heavy dark circles lay under the black eyes and his lips were set in a straight line that told me much.

I surveyed him a moment and waited. I wanted to see him at my feet, to hear him ask so that I might refuse, to have the right to despise as well as hate him.

But he stood motionless after the first salute, not even looking at me.

“Have you anything to say,” I asked at last.

“Your majesty sent for me,” he answered, “I can say nothing but what I said before.”

“I have reconsidered our last interview,” I said reflectively. “You are not without hope.”

He started and raised his eyes eagerly.

“You believe me, sire,” he demanded, scarcely breathing.

I smiled internally, there was still a way to move him.

“Certainly not, Count Cernief. I have merely decided to give you the opportunity of confessing and purchasing a lighter sentence by telling the names of your associates.”

As I expected, he winced visibly before the disappointment.

“I cannot confess what I did not do,” he answered, “and if I were guilty I would not sell my comrades.”

“A most wise and respectful reply,” I said sarcastically. “You will return to your prison, then.”

He bowed and put his hand on the arm of the man at his side, he, the pride of his corps for grace and strength.

“You suffer, perhaps,” I inquired.

He looked me full in the eyes and then I realized the wonderful change in him. His youth was dead, a bitter, insulted man looked out at me.

“What was done, undoubtedly was done at your majesty’s orders,” he said evenly. “You might have had me shot, sire.”

Father, that reproach went home. I might have had him shot, and he would not have troubled me again. But I wanted to make him suffer, I wanted revenge.

After all, what right had he to ask swift oblivion; I had to live and know my promised wife did not love me.

A day or two after I met one of Sophia’s ladies in the hall. Ordinarily I did not pay much attention to them, but this one gazed at me so wistfully that involuntarily I stopped and spoke to her.

She was a slender girl with golden-brown hair and grave brown eyes, curiously sad for one so young. She answered my trivial remark with gentle dignity and hesitated. I waited quietly, and seeing my comprehension of her wish she took courage.

“If I might ask, sire––––” she commenced uncertainly, then in a little rush, “Count Cernief is really gone?”

An exclamation of rage and astonishment broke from me.

“Go bid your mistress ask herself,” I said fiercely, and pushing her roughly aside I strode on, blind with anger.

Think, father: I, the emperor, was to be the toy of a silly girl. That Sophia should dare so much and try to deceive me with a childish artifice.

For I knew she did not love Cernief really any more than she loved me; she was not capable of it. It was simply her last caprice, and her persistence in it astounded me. Evidently his dark beauty had made a deeper impression on her than I supposed. Jealousy shook me like a storm, and stopping at the nearest table that held pen and ink I wrote an order to the officer who had Cernief in charge. The pen quivered in my unsteady fingers, and I sealed the letter with my ring lest my writing should not be recognized. Since I could not strike Sophia, Cernief must suffer for both.

It is whispered that insanity runs in our house; if it were true, I could not have gone on and conducted the daily routine of business so calmly that morning.

I mentally anathematized the fit of passion that had made me expose myself to the young girl Sophia had sent. The recollection of her terrified face annoyed me. If she repeated my message, as she probably would, what effect would it have on Sophia?

On my way to luncheon I called the officer in charge and ordered him to bring Cernief to my room. He answered that it should be done if I wished, but the prisoner was unconscicus.

I dismissed him impatiently, although it was to be expected. The picture rose before me of his rigid face on the narrow prison cot, and I enjoyed my lunch.

In the afternoon I paid my usual visit to Sophia. She received me with a sweet serenity that filled me with mingled wrath and amazement.

Either the girl had not understood me or my fiancée was an inimitable actress. Being cousins, I thought I knew something of her character, but this phase puzzled me.

On returning to the palace I was informed that Cernief was delirious. The officer was apologetic but helpless. The impulse seized me to go myself and see him off his guard, without the mask his pride kept between us. It would be easily done, for he was not confined in the prison, but in a distant part of the palace itself. I signified my desire to the waiting officer.

Our way led downward through a succession of passages and stairs until the daylight was almost lost. That gloom must have affected Cernief strangely the first day he was taken there.

We stopped before a heavily barred door which opened with some difficulty. On the threshold I left the others and entered alone.

He lay very much as I had fancied him on the miserable bed, his wide open eyes blazing with fever, a scarlet spot on each thin cheek, but, an exasperated hatred rose in me as I looked, the beauty I longed to destroy was with him still.

He was speaking swiftly and incoherently, disconnected meaningless sentences following each other. I gathered that he was thinking of the training-ship he had left five years before. Finally he was silent for a moment, moving his head restlessly from side to side.

“Princess,” he murmured vaguely, “help me; it is you––––” then in an indescribable tone and accent, “Dear love, dear love.”

Furious, I took a step forward and struck the smiling lips with my clenched hand. He shuddered and lay motionless.

I left the room with a solemn promise to myself that I would not see him again until I had found the punishment suited to his crime. And I kept my word.

Father, you are pale; remember it happened twenty years ago.

A month elapsed without further incident. It was impossible to do anything until Cernief gained sufficient strength to realize what was taking place around him. Sophia continued calmly making her preparations for our wedding. She appeared perfectly contented and happy. I watched her sometimes with positive dislike, as I thought what her last whim had cost, knowing she would forget me quite as easily.

The lady with her I had met constantly; her name was Allia Souvarov, I learned. Sophia was apparently very fond of her and never showed the slightest embarrassment having me see them together. I was forced to the conclusion that Mademoiselle Souvarov had been too frightened to repeat my message, perhaps had not comprehended it.

Two or three days before our wedding I found Sophia with an atlas on her table, poring over it diligently. She made no attempt to conceal it, but rose to receive me with unruffled composure.

I offered no comment, but in spite of myself my eyes turned more than once to the open book during the half hour that followed. Finally she caught the direction of my glance and flashed an inquiring smile at me.

“My sudden taste for geography surprises you, sire? We ladies must pass the time somehow. Apropos of the Indian Ocean, is Count Cernief to return soon?”

The audacity stung me past all caution.

“Count Cernief is dead,” I retorted brutally.

Sophia’s blue eyes opened wonderingly. Without a word or cry the girl at her side swayed and fell, the golden-brown hair slipping its bonds and covering her like a cloak. Sophia cried out sharply and knelt by her hysterically.

“Allia, Allia,” she said in tears, “a doctor! Let someone bring a doctor. We have killed her, sire. Oh, will no one help––––”

In an instant the room was filled with people. The girl was lifted tenderly to a couch in the next room and a bevy of women surrounded Sophia with smelling salts and glasses of water. But I was in no mood for trifling and brushed them sternly aside.

“I wish to speak to you,” I said to her.

The hint was enough; they huddled from the room with terrified glances at my face.

“Now,” I said when we were alone, “what does this mean?”

“It is all my fault,” Sophia answered, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. “Of course I never imagined anything had happened to poor Adrian, or I would not have spoken before Allia. They are engaged; that is, they would be if it were not for Baron Souvarov. You know, sire, he is determined that Allia shall enter a convent, and she is too timid to oppose him. Even after admitting she loved Cernief she refused to let him take any steps to set her free. He begged her to let him tell you, knowing a single word from you to her father would be enough, but she was afraid. I think she would have yielded if Adrian had not been ordered away just then. After that she was in despair, for by the time he returned it would be too late. I had almost decided to interfere myself, sire, and ask you to help them. Allia was always delicate and she loved him so much. What happened to him, sire? Surely some accident; he was so strong and well.”

“Yes, an accident,” I answered slowly.

There was a sudden movement in the room beyond and the doctor appeared between the curtains.

“She is better?” Sophia cried eagerly.

He looked at me and hesitated.

“Mademoiselle Souvarov suffered with a weak heart, your royal highness, and the shock--”

“She is dead?” I demanded.

He bowed.

“Death was almost instantaneous, your majesty.”

It is my impression that Sophia screamed; I turned and left the room.

“The palace,” I flung to the orderly as I stepped into the carriage.

Those we met stared and made way in consternation. Snowy streets and brilliant crowds passed before me in a kaleidescopic whirl of color. As we turned into the avenue a group of soldiers halted and came to a salute. In their midst was a prisoner heavily chained who languidly raised his head and gazed at me out of sad dark eyes. Only a peasant he was, but I caught my breath and stopped the carriage.

“Where are you taking this man,” I asked the officer.

“Your majesty, he has been sentenced to the knout--” he began.

“Set him free,” I interrupted curtly and sank back on the cushions.

Once in the palace, I paused. I wished to see Cernief myself, but not in the room where he had stood two months before looking at me with those clear untroubled eyes. Rather, where darkness would shield my expression and help me guard my dignity. After a moment’s consideration I called my guide and descended again the long cold passages.

The door to his cell opened more easily than before; so noiselessly, in fact, that I stood in the room a little while before he perceived my presence.

He rose slowly, regarding me fixedly. I think at first he mistook me for one of the shapes with which delirium must have often peopled his cell.

And looking at him, crippled, helpless, his pride ground to the dust, the woman he loved dead, I offered the only reparation in my power.

“Count Cernief,” I said, in a voice the cold steadiness of which was better than I had expected, “I have decided that it is useless to await any information from you. Your sentence of death will be carried out.”

A sudden light flashed into the thin face. “Soon, sire,” he asked eagerly, “and––––”

“And how?” I knew was on his lips.

“You will be shot in half an hour,” I said.

With an effort he drew himself erect and saluted with almost his old-time grace.

“I thank you, sire,” he said, and smiled into my eyes.

What is this, father, tears? I think you forget it was twenty years ago.