"Father," said Paul, "I am going immediately to Paris. I have not even time to wait and see my mother—she is out driving, I hear. Will you understand, father, and make it all right with her?"
And Sir Charles said, as he wrung his son's hand:
"Take care of yourself, Paul—I understand, my boy—and remember, Grig and I are with you to the bone. Wire if you want us—and let me have your news."
So they had parted without fuss, deep feeling in their hearts.
Paul had telegraphed to the address given, for Dmitry, that he would be in Paris, and at what hotel, by the following morning. He chose a large caravanserai as being more suitable to unremarked comings and goings, should Dmitry's visit be anything of a secret one. And with intense impatience he awaited the faithful servant's visit.
He was eating his early breakfast in his sitting-room when the old man appeared. In all the journey Paul had not allowed himself any speculation—he would see and know soon, that was enough. But he felt inclined to grind this silver-haired retainer's hand with joy as he made his respectful obeisance.
"The Excellency was well?"
"Yes." And now for his news.
Madame had bid him come and see the Excellency here in Paris, as not being so inaccessible as England—and first, Yes, Madame was well—There was something in his voice as he said this which made Paul exclaim and question him closely, but he would only repeat that—Yes, his lady was well—a little delicate still, but well—and the never-sufficiently-to-be-beloved son was well, too, his lady had told him to assure the Excellency—and was the portrait of his most illustrious father. And the old man lowered his eyes, while Paul looked out of the window, and thrilled all over. Circumstances made things very difficult for Madame to leave the southern country where she was at present, but she had a very strong desire to see the Excellency again—if such meeting could be managed.
He paused, and Paul exclaimed that of course it could be managed, and he could start that night.