"Blood!" echoed the Governor. "Was there an accident, then?"
"There were real murderers afoot, your Excellency, as well as sham ones," said Max. "If your men had not been there, who can tell what might have happened?"
He had opened Felix's shirt at the throat. The whole of his clothing was soaked and saturated with blood. A handkerchief which the policeman had hurriedly pushed in was scarlet and dripping.
"Good heavens! This was not my fault?" cried the Governor, in horror.
"No, indeed, my Lord. As I say, it is a good thing your men were in the way. They have saved his life," said Max, gathering his master into his arms. "Before they tell you more may we carry him to bed, and stop this bleeding?"
CHAPTER XIX
THE DESPAIR OF VRONSKY
Old men love, while young men die.
—RUDYARD KIPLING.
The Governor, his daughter, and Miss Forester were all at breakfast, in a charming room into which the sunshine was streaming, when, unannounced, Vronsky staggered into the room, a piteous figure.
The pallor of fever was still upon him; his eyes were wild, his demeanor agitated. He greeted nobody; his usually courtly manners had deserted him completely. His head fell upon his chest as he sank down on a chair, ejaculating hoarsely, "My boy! I have lost my boy!"