The Baron gave her time. “The Princess Yves Napraxine,” he went on suavely, “has done me the honor to consent to become my wife. I come now to ask my good friend the Chargé to permit the ceremony to be performed at his Embassy by the American clergyman. Immediately afterwards we will be remarried by the full rites of the Greek Church.”
The Chargé said something courteous, but no one except the Baron heard him. The rest were listening to Olga and the Professor.
The former had found her tongue at last. Gently she laid her hand on the old man’s sleeve. “Is this true?” she questioned softly.
Long the Professor gazed into her eyes, and what he read there gave him courage.
“Yes,” he answered slowly; “I believe it is true. Certainly it is true that I stole the child, thinking her my own daughter. I took her to America, brought her up as my own, loved her, cared for her. And she was a good daughter to me, tender, sweet, affectionate. If I wronged her by taking her from her rightful station in life, I did it unknowingly. But I am not so sure that I did wrong her. To be a Russian princess is a great thing, but to be an American girl and become the wife of a good, true American is also a great thing. I am not certain that the exchange was not a good thing for her as well as for me. And still more do I doubt whether the change back now will be good for her. Count Strogoff is powerful and unscrupulous; he will fight to retain control of the Napraxine millions. Only the most powerful support can win against him; only one like Baron Demidroff can venture to throw down the gage to such a one as he. I cannot advise; the Princess is twenty-three years old; she must choose for herself. But before she does choose, it might be well for her to advise with you. You, too, are an American girl! You can tell her what you would do in her place!”
The old man’s voice dropped. He had said all there was to be said. For good or for ill, the matter now lay in Olga’s hands. Almost calmly he waited for her to choose.
The atmosphere had grown suddenly tense. Even the Baron and the Chargé, ignorant of the facts as they were, found themselves hanging on Olga’s lips, while to Bristow and Florence the suspense was terrible.
For a moment Olga hesitated. Then she laughed lightly. “Good gracious!” she exclaimed, in a voice that somehow instantly relaxed the tension. “Good gracious! How can I tell? I’m not in the Princess’s place. I’m married! If I wasn’t—well, I don’t know. But”—she put out her hand and clasped that of her husband—“but as things are, I wouldn’t risk losing Joe for all the estates in Russia. I wouldn’t give up America for the finest position that Russia could offer. Certainly I wouldn’t trade my happiness for a lawsuit. Joe tells me that I am an American queen now; why should I care to become a Russian princess. Oh, no! It wouldn’t suit me at all. But——” she faced Florence with serenity in her eyes—“but that hasn’t anything to do with you, Princess. If you want to go ahead, we will all do everything we can to make success easy for you. I am sure that you need never fear that any of us will obstruct you in any way. In fact, I, for one, shall always be eternally grateful to you—for permitting me the honor of your acquaintance, of course.”
Florence’s hard eyes grew soft. “Anything I can do for you—” she began.
But Olga had turned away. Grateful to Florence she might be, but she did not care to fraternize with her, certainly not until her disappearance from the yacht had been explained. Besides, she wanted to talk with Bristow, never so dear to her as at that moment of abnegation.