Peter glared at his friend with a wrath he could hardly sustain; but contrary to his use, he made a terrible effort to control himself that he might hear the tale to the full.
He had been, at first, vexed at seeing Mentchikoff, thinking that he should not have left the newly regained Varsovia, but now he admitted that the Prince had done right to bring news so tremendous himself.
He sat on a gilt leather arm-chair, in the little front room of his cottage, dressed in a rough green frieze riding suit, his boots muddy and a riding switch in his hand; he had just returned from a visit of inspection of St. Petersburg, where streets, shops, palaces, and churches were already covering the outlines of the city.
Mentchikoff stood before him in the rich costume of a Russian general, European in cut, but Eastern in color and embroidery, a diamond in his sword hilt, a star on his breast, lace at his throat and wrists.
His long brown and lean face, with the sharp bright black eyes and thick lips, was pale with the intense passion of a fierce and uncivilized nature.
“This is what he did, Peter Alexievitch! I put him back in Varsovia; he did not want to give battle at Kalisz--one knows why now! And one morning he was gone--gone! With his woman and his valets--gone! To Altranstadt--to the camp of the Swede!”
“You were properly fooled,” muttered the Czar, in a stifling voice.
Mentchikoff made not the least attempt to deny this.
“There was one Pfingsten, one of his Germans, whom he sent to Karl--and who brought his terms writ on a bit of paper, and he, this cursed Augustus, signed and fled, to put himself at Karl’s mercy.”
The Emperor’s eyes showed red, a faint dew besprinkled his forehead, he bent his whip across his knee till it cracked, then flung it away and buried his face in his hands, running his fingers into his dusky curls.
“Mdle. D’Einsiedel came to me, the very day before--for months she had been trying to find me--to tell me about Patkul. The whole thing was kept secret, but it seems that he was arrested when you were called to Astrakan. Of course Augustus knew the Swede would ask for him.”
“_My_ ambassador--_my_ general!” groaned Peter.
“When the Elector fled, this lady went back to vantage of his hurried departure to order at once the release of Patkul, but there was much delay, he having been moved from Sonnenstein to Königstein; the messenger reached the governor of this place in time--the Countess von Königsmarck was very active in this intrigue--but he tried to get Patkul to pay ransom, knowing of his wealth, and while this argument was in progress the Swedish officers arrived, and Patkul is now in Altranstadt, fastened in a cellar with a great iron chain round his waist.”