He watched me as the men approached, his eyes scintillating with anger and his hands clenching and unclenching with spasmodic tension.
“I shall not resist; I only protest, monsieur,” I said.
“Search the dog!” he exclaimed again, his voice choked with passion.
I made no resistance, of course; I had nothing to gain by doing so; and when the men took from my breast pocket the large envelope the Prince’s face lighted with triumph, and rushing at the man who held it, he tore it from his grasp, and then fell back with it into a chair as if exhausted with the effort.
He gave one glance at the writing on the envelope and looked up at me.
“Liar! I knew it.” The growl of a beast gloating over its prey secured after infinite labour—but secured.
While he was enjoying this moment of supposed triumph over us, the men who had searched me stood hesitating and waiting for further orders.
It was some moments before he could rally his reserved strength and master his rage sufficiently to speak to us again.
“Even now I can be merciful. Will you go to America?” He looked at us both and tapped one of the packets.