The demonstration was unmistakable. For one moment the Princess's lips tightened, but otherwise her face remained unmoved. Waldemar, too, now sat in the full daylight. He again wore his shooting clothes, which, though on this occasion they certainly bore no marks of recent sport, yet betrayed no special care, and were worlds apart from anything approaching a correct equestrian costume. In his left hand, ungloved like its fellow, he held his round hat and whip. His boots were covered with the dust of a two hours' ride, the rider not having thought fit to shake it off; and his very manner of sitting down showed him to be altogether unused to drawing-room etiquette. His mother saw all this at a glance; but she also saw the inflexible defiance with which her son had armed himself. Her task was no easy one, she felt.
"We have grown strangers to one another, Waldemar," she began; "and on this our first meeting, I can hardly expect to receive from you a son's affectionate greeting. From your early childhood I have been forced to give you into other hands. I have never been allowed to exercise a mother's rights, to fulfil a mother's duties towards you."
"I have wanted for nothing at my uncle Witold's," replied Waldemar, curtly; "and I have certainly been more at home there than I should have been in Prince Baratowski's house."
He laid a bitter emphasis on the name which did not escape the Princess.
"Prince Baratowski is dead," said she, gravely. "You are in the presence of his widow."
Waldemar looked up, and appeared now for the first time to notice her mourning garb. "I am sorry for it--for your sake," he answered, coldly.
His mother put the subject from her with a wave of the hand. "Let us say no more. You never knew the Prince, and I cannot expect you to feel any kindliness towards the man who was my husband. I do not disguise from myself that the loss I have sustained, cruel though it has been, has done away with the barrier which stood between, and held us apart. You have always looked on me exclusively as the Princess Baratowska. Perhaps now you will recall to mind that I am also your mother, and your father's widow."
At these last words Waldemar started up so hastily that his chair was thrown to the ground. "I think we had better not touch on that. I have come in order to show you that I am under no restraint, that I do just what I choose. You wished to speak to me--here I am. What is it you want with me?"
All the young man's rough recklessness, his utter disregard of the feelings of others, spoke in these words. The allusion to his father had evidently stung him; but the Princess had now risen in her turn, and was standing opposite him.
"What I want with you? I want to break through that charmed circle which an influence hostile to me has drawn around you. I want to remind you that it is now time for you to see things with your own eyes, to let your own judgment have free play, instead of blindly adopting the views which other people have forced upon you. You have been taught to hate your mother. I have long known it. Try first whether she deserves your hatred, and then decide for yourself. That is what I want with you, my son, since you compel me to answer such a question."