He turned and twisted and smirked so much that I could not help at once pitying and laughing at him.
The Princess received me in a very small room, the windows looking out on to the silent and deserted garden. There were now no splendid damask walls, no gilt furniture, no bronze—in one word, not one of the luxuries which there had been at Ragusa. She herself, the Grand-duchess Elizabeth Tarakanova, Princess Wladimirskaya, Dame D’Azow—she who had captivated the Shah of Persia and German princes—was now lying ill on a leathern sofa, a blue velvet mantilla thrown over her, and her feet encased in fur slippers. The room was cold and damp. A log of wood was flickering dimly in the fireplace, shedding no warmth anywhere. I did not recognise the Princess. Her thin and wan face, with the hectic flush in each cheek, seemed more lovely than ever. Her eyes smiled, but they were not the same; they reminded me of the eyes of a beautiful wild fawn, mortally wounded, escaping the chase, but feeling that her end is near.
“Ah! you are come at last!” said she timidly, smiling. “You have brought the answer to my letter from the count.… I have read it.… Thank you.… What have you to tell me?”
“The count is your most obedient servant,” answered I, repeating the words that had been said to me. “He is quite at your service and at your feet.”
The Princess rose. Arranging her beautiful fair wavy hair, which she wore without powder, she put out her hand with a timid, friendly gesture. I ventured to raise it to my lips.
“Here all, excepting two persons, have deserted me,” said she; but her strong convulsive cough interrupted her. She put a handkerchief to her lips,—“and then, added to that, I fell ill;—but all that’s nonsense,—it’s not worth speaking about. But do you know now that I’m quite without any means? The Prince Radzivill, his friends, the French people who helped me, have all deserted me, have all hidden themselves,—and all that happened so unexpectedly,—so quickly.… Hardly was peace signed with Turkey when my complaisant Polish magnates one and all threw me off. Never mind; I’ll pay them out for that some day. But now, … I must tell you openly,” added she, smiling, “I am quite, yes, quite, without money. I have not one single baioch[31]—I’ve nothing to pay the doctor, or to procure provisions, with. My creditors give me no peace: threaten me with the police. It’s awful; I’ve nothing left to live upon.…”
Having said this, the Princess began again to cough most awfully, and fixed upon me her supplicating, bewildered glance;—of her former confidence not a trace remained.
“Your Highness,” said I, fulfilling my instructions, “the count has sent you this small sum. How much there is here I know not, but the count offers it to you with all his heart.”
I handed to the Princess a small packet, sealed with the count’s crest, and containing a cheque on a Roman banker, Jenkins. She read the paper, passed her hands over her eyes, looked me in the face, and again began coughing.
“Is it possible?” she exclaimed, with a happy smile, pressing the paper to her heart; “it is true then—it is not a hoax?”