He drew a breath of relief. “But even though you are well, how did you manage to come here?”
“The time had come for me to stop being Princess Valenko—so I just stopped.”
“Ah, I see. You have at length given up all that!”
“No—not yet.”
“Then how did you manage to leave home?—how did you dare?”
They sat down together on the couch, peasant and working-girl. Drexel now noticed that a lamp was burning, and that without the window was blackness; plainly he had slept the whole day.
“As soon as you told me last night where Borodin is,” she began, “I complained to my father about feeling a fever coming on. I urged him to take me home at once, so that I could have the proper attention in case the fever developed seriously. I sent for my own doctor; I said I would have no other. He is a friend—a revolutionist. He found I had a high fever; he ordered day and night nurses—also revolutionists; he said that my condition was so serious that no one should be allowed to see me—not even my father.
“I waited till the way was made clear for me, then in these clothes I slipped out through the servants’ entrance. Until further notice the nurses will be keeping night and day watch upon Princess Valenko; they will order special food for her; the doctor will visit her two or three times a day, and issue bulletins regarding her condition. And in the meantime—here I am.”
“Wonderful!” laughed Drexel.
“Now about yourself,” she said. “That is vastly more important.”