By this time the noise of the motor had brought Stryker and the downstairs maid from the house, and in the confusion of carrying the luggage indoors, the conversation terminated. It was not until Peggy's noisy greetings to her father in the hallway were concluded and the introduction of her new guest accomplished that Jonathan McGuire was permitted to tell her in a few words the history of the past week, and of the injury to the superintendent, who lay upstairs in the room of the guest of honor.
"H-m," sniffed Peggy, "I don't see why you had to bring him here!"
"It's a long story, Peg," said McGuire calmly. "I'll tell you presently. Of course the Princess is very welcome, but I couldn't let him be taken anywhere but here, after he'd behaved so fine all through the rioting."
"Well, it seems to me," Peggy began, when the voice of her guest cut in rather sharply.
"Pierre!" gasped Anastasie sharply, and then, in her pretty broken English, "You say, Monsieur, it is he—Pe-ter Nichols—who 'as been badly 'urt?"
"Yes, ma'am, pretty bad—shot through the breast——"
"Sainte Vierge!"
"But he's getting on all right now. He'll be sitting up in a day or so, the doctor says. Did you know him, ma'am?"
Anastasie Galitzin made no reply, and only stared at her host, breathing with some difficulty. Peggy, who had been watching her startled face, found herself intensely curious. But as she would have questioned, the Princess recovered herself with an effort.
"No—yes, Monsieur. It—it is nothing. But if you please—I should like to go at once to my room."