“Pierre is a good valet but a fool,” he answered with a grunt. “He had his nerves twisted once in a Nihilist row, and ever since has seen a Nihilist conspiracy in every trouble.”
“You don’t take these conspiracies seriously?”
“As a rule, no; occasionally they are dangerous of course; but generally little more than froth and wind—mere political dyspepsia from the soured stomach of sectional discontent.”
“Is this Boreski a Nihilist?”
“Possibly. It is always possible. But I think not. We shall know much more when you return.”
“If I do return, that is.”
“Naturally;” and he smiled, not pleasantly.
I began to think how the cat must have felt when she had burnt her foot in drawing the chestnuts out of the fire and saw the monkey enjoying them. But it was too late to retreat now, even if I had been so minded. The Prince felt something of this, I fancy, for he gave me the opportunity.
“If you have any fear, M. Denver, and wish to draw back, we can return to the Palace.”
“Not on any account.”