“Withdraw!” he repeated, staring at her and then about the apartment, as though doubting his own senses. “You tell me to withdraw!”
And then he burst into a roar of laughter, pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Come,” he said, lighting a cigarette with trembling hand, “it is over. I was a fool, hein? What a joke! Give me some wine!”
Davis, much relieved, filled his glass.
“Do you often have these fits?” he asked.
“Not often, monsieur,” said the prince drily, sipping his wine. “Madame there can testify that I am usually of the most equable. But sometimes—yes, sometimes I think I am a little mad,” and he rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Yet we are all of us a little mad, are we not, M. Selden?” and he looked at Selden with a sardonic smile.
“Some more than others,” Selden answered.
“Ah, you mean me!” said the prince. “Yes, it is so—I more than others. Sometimes I am quite, quite mad. To-night, par example, I thought I had discovered a way of escape from all the things that worried me. That was mad, yes? Because one can never escape!”
“You are right,” Selden agreed. “One can never escape—not by running away.”
“I see what you mean,” and the prince nodded. “To overcome one’s troubles, one must not run away; one must face them, yes? Besides, it is cowardly to run away, and a gentleman must not be a coward. You see I can be a philosopher at times—I am at this moment, very philosophique. I remain—I face my troubles. Monsieur Davis, you will yet have me for a beau-frère! Madame, I ask your pardon!”