As for D'Esmonde, his first care was to inquire for Monsieur de Grasse, the Prince's chief secretary, with whom he remained closeted for nigh an hour. It will not be necessary to inflict all the detail of that interview on the reader; enough that we state its substance to have been a pressing entreaty on the part of D'Esmonde to be admitted to an audience of the Prince, as firmly resisted by the secretary, whose orders were not to admit any one, nor, indeed, acknowledge that his Highness was then there.
“You must wait upon him at the Crocetto, Monsignore,” said De Grasse. “Your presence here will simply cause the dismissal of those who have admitted you, and yet never advance your own wishes in the least.”
“My business is too urgent, sir, to be combated by reasons so weak as these,” replied D'Esmonde; “nor am I much accustomed to the air of an antechamber.”
“You must yet be aware, Monsignore, that the orders of Prince Midchekoff are absolute in his own house.” The secretary dropped his voice almost to a whisper as he finished this sentence, for he had just overheard the Prince speaking to some one without, and could detect his step as he came along the corridor.
With a look of most meaning entreaty he besought the Abbé to keep silence, while he crept noiselessly over and turned the key. D'Esmonde uttered an exclamation of anger, and, sweeping past a window, within which stood a magnificent vase of malachite, he caught the costly object in the wide folds of his gown, and dashed it to the ground in a thousand pieces. De Grasse gave a sudden cry of horror, and at the same instant Midchekoff knocked at the door, and demanded admittance. With faltering hand the secretary turned the key, and the Prince entered the room, casting his eyes from D'Esmonde to the floor, where the fragments lay, and back again to the priest, with a significance that showed how he interpreted the whole incident. As for the Abbé, he looked as coldly indifferent to the accident as though it were the veriest trifle he had destroyed.
“I came to have a few moments' interview with you, Prince,” said he, calmly; “can you so far oblige me?”
“I am entirely at your orders, Monsignore,” said the Russian, with a faint smile. “Allow me to conduct you to a chamber in less disorder than this one.”
The Abbé bowed, and followed him, not seeming to hear the allusion. And now, passing through a number of rooms, whose gorgeous furniture was carefully covered, they reached a small chamber opening upon a conservatory, where a breakfast-table was already spread.
“I will waste neither your time nor my own, Prince, by an apology for the hour of this visit, nor the place; my business did not admit of delay—that will excuse me in your eyes.”
The Prince gave a cold bow, but never spoke.