Wan and haggard, apparently ten years older than when she ran down these steps a week previous departing for Albany, Olga stood clinging to the mahogany rail of the balustrade. Her large straw bonnet had fallen back, the heavy hair was slipping low on neck and brow, and her sunken eyes had a dreary stare.
"Are you ill? What has happened? Dear Olga, speak to me."
She threw her arms around the regal figure, and felt that she was shivering from head to foot.
As she became aware of the close clinging embrace in which Regina held her, a ghastly smile parted Olga's colourless lips, and she said said in a husky whisper:
"Is it you? True little heart; the only one left in all the world."
After a few seconds, she added:
"Where is mamma?"
"At the opera."
"To see Beelzebub? All the world is singing and playing that now, and you may be sure that you and I shall be in at the final chorus. Regina——"
She swept her hand feebly over her forehead, and seemed to forget herself.