But this failure to find her was a never-ending subject of thought, as well as of somewhat angry satire when the opportunity offered. One day when the Prince came I rallied him strongly on the matter, thinking to gibe him into greater activity.
"Your agents are poor hounds, Prince," I said. "They bay loudly enough on the trail, but they don't find."
"They have found the brother," he answered quietly. "And the girl can't be far off."
"The brother be hanged," cried I.
"Not by the Russian hangman. He doesn't mean to return here; but he has dropped your name and probably by this time has left Paris altogether. He knows the facts—or some of them; our agent told him them; and he means to put as great a distance between himself and Russia as the limitations of the globe will permit."
"He's a poor creature. How was he found?"
"As usual—a woman."
"Well, I owe him no grudge. He has given me a better part than I ever thought to play in life. And a good wife too—if we can only find her."
"We shall find her. The woman's not born that can hide herself from us, when we are in earnest."
"Well, I wish you'd be thoroughly in earnest now. If you were only as much in earnest as you were about that duel...."