“Mademoiselle,” I said, as quietly as I could, “it is my happiness to have served you, and my hope to serve you yet more faithfully. I will spare nothing to deliver you from your uncle, and to obtain your entire freedom from restraint.”
“It is a terrible thing, M. de Brousson,” Zénaïde said thoughtfully, “to be persecuted by one of your own family; but my uncle has never had any sympathy for me. I am merely a card in his hands, to be played when the stakes are certain; he has never considered me as a human being. He is cruel, and I dread the consequences to you of these kind offices.”
“Fear nothing, mademoiselle,” I responded cheerfully. “I know also something of your uncle, and fear him not at all.”
“You are brave, monsieur,” she replied with a soft little laugh. “As a rule my uncle is a terror to friends and foes. Alas! I believe no one is his friend except through fear or favor; that is the common fate of such men as he!”
“That is true, mademoiselle,” I replied thoughtfully; “but it is also true that to a man of such inflexible will, the support of friendly sympathy is superfluous. I can fancy him treating it with scorn. He would rejoice in ruling by the force of his own determination, and crushing out all resistance.”
“Yes,” she said quietly; “he would crush out life itself if the opposition to his will were obstinate. I believe that he has learned to hate me since he has found that I will not yield to his authority the unquestioning obedience of a child, and yet he has never tried to win me to submission by any kindness or persuasion. He is a man of iron.”
I thought of her persecuted mother and her murdered father, and had no words with which to answer her. How little she measured the villainy of this stern man! she was like a child trying to read the soul of a rogue.
We had reached Von Gaden’s house, and the doctor himself opened the door in response to my summons. He looked not a little surprised at the sight of the two women with me, but admitted us with his usual gentle courtesy. We entered, leaving Pierrot on the doorstep to watch for and warn us of possible pursuit. Mademoiselle and he remembered each other, for he had been at the château while she was there, and it was amusing to see the mutual joy at the discovery of some one who belonged to that quiet and trustworthy past, for they both had the same horror of their present environment; and she seemed to feel reassured because this old retainer watched at the door. The doctor ushered her and Zénaïde into a private room, and then I asked to speak to him alone, feeling that I could explain matters more clearly out of the hearing of the two most concerned. I was for going straight into the doctor’s study, but to my surprise, found that already occupied. A man was sitting by the table and rose at the sight of me; it was Peter Lykof, but the doctor drew me into another room, and closing the door with his back, stood regarding me with an expression of inquiry in his eyes. Now that I had brought Zénaïde to his house, I realized that I was demanding a good deal of his kindness, and exposing him to no contemptible danger. I was therefore not a little disturbed at the unusual brusquerie of his demeanor. He saw my momentary embarrassment, and his manner relaxed.
“Well, M. le Vicomte,” he said quietly, “I see that your errand is unusual, but we gain nothing by delay. To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit from the unknown ladies yonder?”
I looked up in surprise; it had not occurred to me that he had failed to recognize them under their mufflings.