Together in Paris

13.

The Dowager Empress' villa was colossal. There was a mammoth garden decorated by hundreds of hedges right in front of the estate — and who knew how far it extended even on the back — and a high wrought iron gate separated the road from that private land. Gleb wrinkled his nose, annoyed. Obviously, the Empress had no idea of how hard it was for people to earn a living, in Russia as in the rest of the world, nor would she have stopped living in her happy bubble of richness if she had gotten to know.
But she was nothing but a common woman now.

The Romanov Empire was long over.

He rang the bell on the stone column that supported the gate and silently waited for a few moments, preparing his speech; someone would for sure have checked who had rung, and he would have been ready to answer. But he was taken aback when the gate automatically opened, allowing him to enter.

What kind of sorcery was that?!

He uncomfortably walked in that well-kept courtyard, the white gravel crunched beneath his feet as his heart throbbed strongly into his throat.
Had he made the right choice?
He fixed the collar of his uniform, unnerved. It was almost like it was chocking him, all of a sudden. But right or wrong choice, he was there now. And it was time to put an end to the rumors.

He knocked on the wooden door in front of the mansion, he straightened up a bit and prepared that glacial glare he had always worn during his time in Peters — Leningrad, ready for his new challenge.

Yet, he wasn't sure his ice would have been totally frozen forever.

The lively face of Lily Malevsky Malevič greeted him on the door, which opened with a slight creak.

"Yes, how can I ... " she began, but as soon as her light green eyes rested on that bistre uniform the Deputy Commissioner wore, color faded from her rosy cheeks, panic deformed her features. A satisfied smile stretched the Bolshevik's lips.

"I'd like to talk to Maria Fëodorovna." Gleb said. Malevsky's eyes widened at those words.

"T-t-the Fëodorovna?" she stammered. He arched an eyebrow.

"Do you happen to know any other Fëodorovna?"
Malvesky stiffened, quite pissed off by his remark, but continued to speak, this time more coldly: "She's not home."

"Who is it, Lily?" the old and weak voice of the Dowager Empress called out, the ticking sound of a stick moving on the floor made the Deputy Commissioner struggle to restrain a smirk and, at the same time, had the lady-in-waiting cursing under her breath.

"No one, Your Majesty!" she then shouted back at the voice, facing the hallway behind her. The soldier laughed.

"No one?"

"Whose is this voice?" Fëodorovna asked, now tremendously close. Lily Malevsky Malevič tried to close the door, but Gleb thought faster and put a foot between the wooden door and the jamb, preventing her from closing the entrance. The woman gave him a shocked look, and was even more terrified when she saw him push the door open to get in.

"It's an insult!" she shouted, the long fringes of her French dress jingled "How dare you?! Go away, or I'll call the police! This is home infraction!"

You actually opened the gate to me, duh, Gleb thought, but he deliberately ignored Lily, elegantly passing her without even giving her a glance, his eyes searching for her to whom the second voice belonged. And he didn't have to look for long.
There, at the top of the vaulted staircase at the end of the corridor stood the Dowager Empress Maria Fëodorovna Romanova, gloriously wrapped in a sumptuous Russian dress Gleb had only seen in photos and portraits. Although supported by a stick, as the soldier himself noticed, she still looked intimidating and extremely arrogant. She was somehow familiar.