"I beg your pardon; I scarcely know what I'm saying. To be married to-morrow morning!--to be married!"
"O yes; it's all right; it's not what you said, you know, but as true as possible. I know it for a fact, because I was at the post-office just now, and I saw letters addressed to the Russian ambassador, and to Mr. Koch, our consul at Frankfurt; and Malmedie told me that the prince's man has been over here to order a carriage and relays for the morning."
"What did you say the name was under which she was passing?"
"Madame Poitevin. But why?"
"Nothing-no matter; now the Hôtel de Russie!--all right;" and he started off up the street.
"C'est lui! mon, Dieu, madame! c'est lui!" That was all Mademoiselle Marcelline had time to utter as she opened the door of Mrs. Hammond's rooms to a hasty knock, and a tall figure strode past her. Mademoiselle Marcelline, even in the fading evening light, recognized the well-known form of Sir Charles Mitford; but her exclamation caused Mrs. Hammond to think it was Prince Tchernigow of whom she spoke, and to impute Marcelline's evident terror to the fact that she had not then put the finishing touches to her toilette or her coiffure.
When she saw who was her visitor, she made up her mind instantaneously to the line of conduct to be pursued, and said:
"May I ask the meaning, Sir Charles Mitford, of this strange intrusion into a lady's private rooms?"
He stopped still, and winced under her cold words as though cut by a whip. When he regained his voice, he said:
"Laura! Laura! what does this mean?"