“Ah! Then of course you give up all thoughts of this duel?”
“Honour calls me to it.”
“But the lady’s safety calls you from it. Now that, thanks to your uncle, the name of the Czar’s opponent is known to Count Panine, your appearance in St. Petersburg will be instantly followed by your arrest and deportation to the frontier. In such case what help can you give the lady, should her enemies discover that she is still alive? Her state calls for a protector, and your past relations with her entitle you to assume that rôle.”
This way of putting the case modified Wilfrid’s views, and—“Postponed indefinitely,” became his decision on the question of the duel.
The Princess’s loss of memory filled Wilfrid with extreme disquietude. When he last saw her she had been in a vein bordering upon love; this new state of mind on her part would now cause her to be ignorant of his very existence. He would have to begin his love-making all over again, and might—fail!
He breakfasted with the doctor, who, the meal ended, paid another visit to his patient, returning almost immediately with the good news that she was strong enough to be up and dressed.
So, as soon as word came that the Princess’s toilet was completed, Wilfrid sought her presence.
Attired in a dainty sarafan of soft muslin, supplied from Pauline’s wardrobe, she was reclining in a deep fauteuil with the Baroness by her side.
Although she had occupied so large a space in his mind Wilfrid had seen her but four times, and, by a singular coincidence, at night only. Her beauty underwent no diminution by day; on the contrary it seemed to be enhanced by the soft morning light. Her delicate pallor was the only evidence of her recent grapple with death.
It was the same Marie, and yet different. The pensive melancholy hitherto marking her aspect had vanished; a new and happier light glanced from her eyes; the passing of her memory seemed to have brought with it the passing of sorrow.