Sergei had sent a message for Anna to meet him in the garden. She already knew of the reassignment. He had hoped to tell her of his success with his father. He should have known better!
He immediately took her in his arms. Anna did not pull back. She sensed that it must have gone badly with his father, that the rift between them had widened. She knew how deeply hurt and crushed he must feel by yet another rejection. So she held him too, as tightly as she could. And as she let him talk, although she could not see his face, she could hear the tears in his voice.
“Anna, I’ve decided to leave the country,” he said with more desperation than resolve. “I cannot serve a nation I no longer believe in.”
“Sergei,” she said softly, “don’t talk that way.”
“I mean it.”
“But you are distraught now. I’m sure you will feel differently in another day or two.”
“No, Anna. I am through with it all—through with fruitlessly trying to please my father and my emperor and . . . everyone but myself. Now it is our turn, Anna—our turn to be happy. I will not say goodbye to you again. I want you to come with me! We will leave tonight.”
“Sergei . . . I don’t know,” Anna said hesitantly.
“I know it is sudden, but it is the only way!”
“But, Sergei . . . you could never be happy that way. It would eat away at you that you had left Russia in disgrace.”
“That might have been true at one time, but no longer.”
“I couldn’t let you do it, Sergei. Not because I am afraid for myself. I would go with you anywhere. But I know the decision would only torment you in the end.”
“I tell you, I am through with it all! I spit in the faces of all those who oppose me.”
“In my face also, Sergei?”
“What are you saying?” He let go of her and turned away. “I had hoped you would want to be with me, Anna. Are you saying that you oppose me too, that you take my father’s side?” His voice was cold, as it had never before been with her.
“Of course I don’t oppose you, in the way of who you are and what you stand for. And I do want to be with you! But not like this.”
She walked around to face him. “I only oppose your wanting to flee in the middle of the night. Nothing more. You would be miserable if you did such a thing. We would both be miserable. It would be no way to begin our life together.”
He turned away again and covered his face with his hands. A long silence followed.
“Always the voice of reason, aren’t you, Anna?” he sighed at length. He shook his head sadly. “Sometimes I hate reason altogether!”
She lifted his trembling hands from in front of his face and brought them to her lips. “I’m sure the assignment in the south is a temporary one,” she said. “It is the best way, Sergei.”
A long, thoughtful silence followed.
“You are right,” he replied morosely at length. “I suppose I knew it all along.” He embraced her once more. “But how can I bear to leave you again?”
“It will not be for long.”
“Perhaps my father is right when he says I will be able to win back my favor.”
“In that I do agree with him!” Anna smiled.
Sergei chuckled. “It is not easy to admit he is right.”
“But in his words we can take hope.”
“Anna, I love you so!” he said softly, kissing one of her light curls.
They had been so close to finally having each other . . . as close as talk of a midnight flight out of St. Petersburg. Now that the voice of reason had prevailed, would it ever happen? Or would they eternally find themselves pawns in a cruel game of fate, maneuvered about by voices of reason, by autocratic rulers, and by an uncaring father?
As if in answer to his unspoken questions, Sergei suddenly heard the sound of a footfall on the garden path. He and Anna parted, but it was too late. Viktor saw enough, and for what he did not see, he was well able to draw his own conclusions.
“Father!” exclaimed Sergei as Anna shrank timidly back.
“I see I was right all along,” said Viktor, with such control Sergei could have exploded. “You care nothing for honor, or for a name that stands for honor.”
“Think what you will, Father.”
“My previous assessment of things turns out to be the correct one. Your mother’s tears can do nothing to change that now.”
“I don’t care anymore!”
“That is obvious enough.”
“What do you mean by that?” challenged the son bitterly.
“It is the lowest sort of man who would use a poor servant girl for his own ends. I had hoped I’d raised better.”
“Think the worst of me if you will—you always have anyway. But I am glad you have found out the truth about Anna and me. And since you have, let me set you completely straight. This is no sordid affair, as you seem to think. Anna and I have known each other quite well for two years. Not only is she gracious enough to love me, I love her as well and plan to marry her. Thanks to you, that will have to wait, for I must go south as I have been ordered. But we will marry. Nothing you can do will stop it.”
“Don’t be foolish, Sergei,” said Viktor in as close to a pleading tone as the old soldier could come, although it still bore the sound of command. “To throw your life away for a servant—”
“Don’t even dare speak a word against Anna.”
“I only meant—”
“I am through listening to you!”
“Well, at least you have enough sense left to obey your orders. I am more certain than ever that your going on this duty will be the best thing for you under the circumstances.”
“No doubt you and the tsar planned it together!”
“Sergei—!” Anna tried to speak, but choking tears and her own fear in the elder prince’s presence made her voice useless.
“And let me tell you this,” Sergei continued to rail against his father. “My decision to obey my orders has nothing to do with you. If it were up to me alone, I would desert and leave the country, even if it meant you spending your life in shame. But for Anna’s sake, and my own, I have chosen to do otherwise. Honor does mean something to me, after all, Father. Unfortunately, it is an honor different than you and your colleagues of the court will ever know.”
Viktor replied only with silence. He was nearly as dumbfounded by the turn of events as his daughter’s maid.
“Goodbye, Father. You are finally rid of me.”
Sergei walked to where Anna stood, pale and trembling. He took her arm and together they began to walk away. But some demon of bitterness in Sergei’s heart made him pause and look back for one final cruel thrust. “If you are lucky, Father,” he said, “I will catch a Tartar bullet and not return!”