“This, please note, was an evening in late March of the year 1812.  For a long time already there had been talk of a growing coolness between Russia and France.  The word war was being whispered in drawing rooms louder and louder, and at last was heard in official circles.  Thereupon the Parisian police discovered that our military envoy had corrupted some clerks at the Ministry of War and had obtained from them some very important confidential documents.  The wretched men (there were two of them) had confessed their crime and were to be shot that night.  To-morrow all the town would be talking of the affair.  But the worst was that the Emperor Napoleon was furiously angry at the discovery, and had made up his mind to have the Russian envoy arrested.

“Such was De Castel’s disclosure; and though he had spoken in low tones Tomassov was stunned as by a great crash.

“‘Arrested,’ he murmured, desolately.

“’Yes, and kept as a state prisoner—­with everybody belonging to him....’

“The French officer seized Tomassov’s arm above the elbow and pressed it hard.

“‘And kept in France,’ he repeated into Tomassov’s very ear, and then letting him go stepped back a space and remained silent.

“‘And it’s you, you, who are telling me this!’ cried Tomassov in an extremity of gratitude that was hardly greater than his admiration for the generosity of his future foe.  Could a brother have done for him more!  He sought to seize the hand of the French officer, but the latter remained wrapped up closely in his cloak.  Possibly in the dark he had not noticed the attempt.  He moved back a bit and in his self-possessed voice of a man of the world, as though he were speaking across a card table or something of the sort, he called Tomassov’s attention to the fact that if he meant to make use of the warning the moments were precious.

“‘Indeed they are,’ agreed the awed Tomassov.  ’Good-bye then.  I have no word of thanks to equal your generosity; but if ever I have an opportunity, I swear it, you may command my life....’

“But the Frenchman retreated, had already vanished in the dark lonely street.  Tomassov was alone, and then he did not waste any of the precious minutes of that night.

“See how people’s mere gossip and idle talk pass into history.  In all the memoirs of the time if you read them you will find it stated that our envoy had a warning from some highly placed woman who was in love with him.  Of course it’s known that he had successes with women, and in the highest spheres, too, but the truth is that the person who warned him was no other than our simple Tomassov—­an altogether different sort of lover from himself.

“This then is the secret of our Emperor’s representative’s escape from arrest.  He and all his official household got out of France all right—­as history records.

“And amongst that household there was our Tomassov of course.  He had, in the words of the French officer, the soul of a warrior.  And what more desolate prospect for a man with such a soul than to be imprisoned on the eve of war; to be cut off from his country in danger, from his military family, from his duty, from honour, and—­well—­from glory, too.