Punctually as the timepiece struck four Vanderlin was announced. He entered and saluted her with his usual grave and distant courtesy.
“You desired to see me, madame? I am at your commands, of course. I hope Mr. Gaulois explained that it was impossible for me to receive you this morning.”
No one could have been more courteous, but she felt that he was on his guard against her and that he saw her desire to see him singular; the perception of that did not decrease the embarrassment she felt. She was Venus, but he would never be Tannhäuser.
After all, she did not want him to be Tannhäuser: she only wanted some small share of his million, some little mouse-like nibbling at his golden store.
“You must have been much surprised at my request,” she said as she motioned to him to be seated. “But I have a communication to make to you. I was present at the death of Prince Khristof of Karstein.”
The expression of Vanderlin’s features grew very cold.
“The fact of that death was telegraphed to me,” he replied. “It cannot concern me in any way.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Perfectly sure. Nor can I conceive why you, a total stranger, were with him.”
“I was not a stranger to him. I have known him many years; and I am about to marry his grandnephew. He was altogether abandoned; he had not even a servant or a nurse; I did what I could.”