“Vera Savanova, Nurse.”
CHAPTER XXIX
TO-MORROW?
THE next fifteen minutes, when Drexel looks back upon them, present nothing but a blur of ecstatic relief. Distinct remembrance begins with his being ushered to a certain door—a door within which, excited as he was, he recalled that the princess ten days before had thrown off her mask to him.
He entered.
There she was!—in a convalescent’s robe, half reclining in a great chair soft with many cushions. He could but stare. But a few hours since and he had seen her in the coarse gray garments of death. But a few hours—and there she was!
“Close the door, Andrei,” she said.
The door closed.
She rose up in all her superb young beauty and came to him, her arms outstretched, her face a glory of love.
“Oh, Henry! Henry!”
“Sonya! My Sonya!”