“M. Sterling has also fainted,” the maid replied with assumed innocence.
“Ha!”
It was more like a shriek than a sob. I heard a hasty rustling of skirts, and then Sophia seemed to be kneeling beside me, and feeling for the beat of my heart.
“Go, Fauchette! Send Gregory instantly to M. Petrovitch to inform him that M. Sterling has been taken ill in my house, and that I fear he is dead.”
The Princess began loosening my necktie.
Had Fauchette been present I should have been able to point to this as a proof that I was not incapable of an occasional oversight.
As a matter of fact, I had not anticipated this very natural action on Sophia’s part. Yet it should have been evident that, were it only to keep up appearances before any one who might come to view my supposed corpse, she would be bound to free my neck.
And I was wearing the locket which contained the portrait of my promised bride!
I lay, really rigid with apprehension, while Sophia’s caressing fingers tenderly removed the necktie, and began unfastening my collar and shirt.
Suddenly I heard an ejaculation—at first striking the note of surprise and curiosity merely, but deepening to fear.