“Send for a nun,” said Mouse, who only desired to get rid of her. “Send for another doctor. The Prince cannot lie like this.”
“Very well, madame,” said the woman. “But errands cost money. People won’t run messages for nothing.”
Mouse gave her some more silver and bade her find a messenger. She was anxious to be rid of her, for in her presence it was impossible to open the box. She was resolved to open it. It was not a pleasant thing to do, but she had an intuitive sense that it was worth doing.
She was glad that neither the woman nor the doctor had asked her who she was. She summoned all her fortitude to her assistance and approached the bed.
She saw that he was, as the doctor said, very nearly lifeless. His breathing was labored and painful, his heart scarcely beat any longer. His eyes were closed. They had ceased to stare at her. How could she sever the little steel chain round his throat? He could not cry out or raise his hand to oppose her; she leaned over him and took hold of the key. She shrank in all her nerves from the horror of touching him, but she put a strong pressure on herself and tried to wrench the key from the ring on which it hung. He seemed insensible and unaware of what she was doing. But suddenly, as she succeeded in wrenching open the ring, breaking her shell-like fingernails in doing so, his eyelids were lifted and consciousness once more glared at her from his regard. She felt herself turn white with terror and disgust, but she did not loosen her hold and she pulled the key off the ring. His eyes cursed her, but his curse was impotent.
She hurried to the leather box, fitted the key in its lock, and opened it. She did not even look back at the bed. She was in haste lest the consul or someone else should come up the stairs. In the box there was nothing but papers. There were the diplomas of orders; there were certificates of marriage and birth; there were some old letters; and there was a large sealed packet addressed to Vanderlin. There was nothing else. Whatever it might once have held of value had been removed previously by himself, and the stars of the orders had been pawned and lost.
She took out the packet addressed to Vanderlin, laid the other documents in order, locked the box and returned to the bedside to put back the key on the chain.
Then she saw a change which it was impossible to misread. He was dead. The cerebral excitement, caused by his recognition of her and of her endeavor to seize the key, had killed him. He was dead and could never bear witness against her. She fastened the little key on its ring, drew the sheet up over his breast, and with a shudder left the bedside. Then she opened the bodice of her gown and put the packet against her corset; it was bulky, but when she put on her golfing-cloak it did not show.
When the German consul mounting the stairs opened the door of the chamber he saw a lady in black and grey, who kneeled by the side of the bed, the lamplight illumining the golden coils of her hair. He was greatly touched and impressed. She rose from her knees and addressed him with a sweet, sad gravity.
“My poor old friend expired but a moment ago,” she said softly. “I am so glad I came. He would otherwise have died in solitude. Oh, how harsh and cruel is the world!”