“He is really a prince—a serene highness; he is allied by blood to one imperial house and two royal houses.”
The woman looked dubious still; a napoleon would have better eased her doubts.
“That is nothing, madame,” she said with contempt; “those people pay less willingly than anybody.”
During this colloquy the eyes of Prince Khris watched intently; his brain was not clear, and his ears seemed stuffed up and filled with buzzing noises, but he understood that they were talking of him. She had put back her veil and he had recognized her. Why was the blonde devil there? Why was not Olga there instead? He had forgotten time, he had only a confused notion of things; he had recognized the blonde devil and he was afraid she should get at his papers, but all the rest was mist and confusion. His memory of his daughter was of her as a little child—a little child in a white frock, with a pearl necklace and great brown eyes and a cloud of dark soft hair. When she had been a little child he had never done her any harm.
The old dame retired, well pleased to see a lady take her place, and she, left alone, came up to the bedside forcing herself to conquer her natural aversion to painful and unlovely scenes: she was vaguely afraid of that mute, paralyzed figure. She dreaded intensely lest the doctor should arrive before she should have been able to do what she desired; but for that reason she deemed it prudent to seem anxious for his presence. No one bent on a dubious errand would ever endeavor to hasten a doctor’s arrival. The motionless figure on the bed looked entirely unlike the man whom she had known as Khris Kar: entirely unlike except for those steel-blue eyes which were staring at her without recognition, but with challenge and inquiry, for his brain was still conscious. That gaze frightened her. After all, what business had she to be there? She was momentarily unnerved; but she had courage and audacity, and she controlled her nerves and looked away not to see those searching eyes in the lean, waxen, distorted face.
She went to the window and closed the wooden blinds, for the setting sun was strong though winter was scarce past. Then she took off her hat and veil, and moved about the small chamber putting it in order as she had seen nurses do in sick-rooms, and filling a glass with fresh water from a pitcher which stood on the floor. The place was horrible to her; its air was close, its scent bad, its floor was not clean, the chairs were rush-bottomed, the table was deal; but there was one thing which belonged to a different sphere, one thing which attracted her and seemed to suggest that her errand might not be fruitless—it was a despatch-box of Russian leather, with initials and the crown of a serene highness in gold or silver gilt above its lock. If there were any papers of consequence in the room, that box, much battered by frequent travel, contained them. Moreover, when she approached and dusted it, she saw the eyes of the man on the bed dilate with menace. She left it at once and cut a lemon into the glass of water and went to the bedside with the drink. The shaded light fell across the bed. She saw the eyes of the paralytic stare upward at her. Then into them came a ray of comprehension—a flash of hate.
“It is the blonde devil,” thought the still conscious brain, which had lost all power to communicate its thoughts to the lips and tongue.
“Dear Prince, do you know me?” said his visitor very softly. “I am so sorry to find you here, and so ill. I should like to be of some use.”
The kind, soft words found their way to the dulled, imprisoned brain; she saw that by the expression of the eyes; for the eyes in answer said to her: “I am half dead—I am almost wholly dead; but I am not so utterly dead yet that I can be fooled by you. Blonde devil, what is it that you come here to seek?”
She observed that his eyes, leaving her face, turned anxiously in the direction where the despatch-box was; she saw also that round his throat was a steel chain with a small gold key. In that box was there any message for his daughter, or for Vanderlin, or any proof that he had brought about their separation? It was evident that he was afraid the box should be touched. This interested her. She was pleased that her instinct had led her right. She did not dare to act in any way; he might not be entirely paralyzed as the people said; he might not be so absolutely sure to die, or to remain speechless until his death; she knew nothing about his malady, except that he had dropped down suddenly when punting at Monte Carlo.