“You have come at the time when you are most needed, monsieur,” I said; “you, and you alone, can save your daughter.”
“If I had been earlier advised of her danger,” he replied, “I should have acted more decisively; as it stands, it is to you that I am beholden, M. de Brousson.”
I bowed in acknowledgment, not without a feeling of pleasure that Zénaïde’s father was already in my debt. As he stood before us now, in his true character, I was more than ever impressed by the man’s dignity, the stern resolution of his brow and mouth, the traces of a handsome youth lost by rugged usage and the disfiguring scar. Yet I was conscious too of a new feeling, which I could not analyze: I was no longer Zénaïde’s only chance of escape; here was her natural protector, the one who would have the first voice in deciding my fate. I could not but wonder how much he knew, or imagined, of my feeling for his daughter, meanwhile endeavoring to play the host with what grace I could summon in the midst of my anxiety. I invited my two guests to partake of a light repast, which I noticed the boyar ate calmly, like a man who was accustomed to facing anxieties and difficulties, and whose nerves could remain unshaken in the midst of disaster; even Von Gaden showed more excitement, and I only made a pretence of eating as a matter of courtesy.
“Your appetite is poor, M. le Vicomte,” Ramodanofsky remarked calmly, glancing at my plate.
I made some excuse, speaking of the anxiety of the moment.
“It makes no difference, M. de Brousson,” he replied quietly. “I am a good deal of a fatalist. If evil is to happen, it will happen; to eat or to fast will not avert it. If you had been through my bitter experience, you would face any crisis with more composure. Fear or suffering, in anticipation, is a poor method of borrowing trouble, and avails nothing. The only way to conquer misfortune is to meet it with indomitable will.”
Looking at his severe scarred face, I could readily fancy his manner of meeting adversity.
“M. de Brousson is young yet,” Von Gaden remarked, “and young blood is easily stirred.”
I heard footsteps on the stair, and rising from my chair, stood looking at the two men before me.
“Mon Dieu, gentlemen!” I exclaimed, “is it a light matter? I could face death, methinks, with a composure equal to your own, but here is a terrible situation. Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky has disappeared, and we cannot tell what fate may have overtaken her!”