He was now listening to her with great intentness, his eyes dwelling on her with a searching interrogation which did not make her part the easier to play. They were eyes trained to read the minds and penetrate the falsehoods of others.
“I found the poor old Prince all alone in a miserable room with a bear of a doctor, and not a nun even present to see to his wants. I am not a very susceptible person, but it hurt me to think of what he was, and all he might have been. I did what little I could for him, and he recognized me, and was pleased; one could see that by his eyes. I sent all over the place for nurses, for physicians, for the German consul, for the Lutheran pastor, but no one came until the end—too late. He had lodgings in an out-of-the-way country road; I suppose he could not afford any better—everything went at the tables. Well, he recovered his faculties a little, and he made me understand that he was repentant and wretched because he had wronged his daughter and separated her from you. He was almost inarticulate but I managed to make out his meaning; I know German very well. I gathered that your wife was innocent; that she was the victim of suborned witnesses, and that her father had been the chief fabricator of the testimony which ruined her.”
Vanderlin with difficulty controlled his emotion. He was used to conceal his thoughts, but for once his reserve broke down, and he was unable to conceal his anxiety.
“Go on! Go on!” he said in a breathless vein. “Are there any proofs of what you say?”
“Hear me out,” she said with some impatience. “What Khris said was mumbled, incoherent, rambling, his tongue moved with difficulty. But I understood so much as this. That the lady they call the Countess Olga zu Lynar, and whom as you gave me to understand you have never ceased to regret, is absolutely innocent of any offence against you. Your jealousy was wickedly aroused and your credulity abused.”
“These are words!” cried Vanderlin. “I want proof! What proof did he give you? He was always a knave and a comedian.”
“Poor old Khris!” said Mouse softy and sadly. “He was sincere on his deathbed, at any rate, for he confessed to sins which no one would wittingly assume.” Then she added with a certain embarrassed but graceful câlinerie, “I have proof, proof positive; his attestation and those of his bribed witnesses. But what will you give me for them? I am a very poor woman, M. Vanderlin, and you are a very rich man!”
Vanderlin rose impetuously; he looked twenty years younger; the mask of impassive coldness which he had worn so long dropped; his natural expression was revealed, his eyes shone with the light of hope and expectation.
“I will give you anything you wish!” he answered. “Anything! Of what use is wealth without happiness?”
She changed her tactics, for she knew that to make any demand was dangerous and unseemly; and she realized that this man’s gratitude would be boundless and his generosity as great.