“No, I have no tidings of him yet. But, as I told you, he has escaped. No doubt he finds it difficult to come here, my house is perhaps watched. How can we tell? But do not agitate yourself, Elisabeth; I repeat, Fandor is bound to find out that you are here, and knowing you are here, he also knows that I must have convinced you of his innocence. I am persuaded he will not be long before he comes to see you....”
But suddenly the grand duchess broke off. Framed in the doorway the figure of a man had appeared; his face was worn with suffering, and he had pushed his way in frantic haste to the bedchamber, throwing aside the footman who was for showing him into an adjoining sitting room. It was Jérôme Fandor! The unhappy young man strode across the room and fell to his knees beside Elisabeth’s bed. With a passionate, yet restrained ardour he took the girl’s hand and covered it with burning kisses.
“Elisabeth! Elisabeth!” he murmured, “oh! what misery, and yet what bliss! to find you here, wounded, wounded for me! For I understand your noble self-sacrifice. What happiness to find you again, to have the right to love you!”
At sight of him, Elisabeth had instinctively sprung up in bed as if to rise and meet him; then, exhausted by the effort, pale as a dead woman, she had sunk back on the pillows. The hand Fandor held lay cold and lifeless in his, and it was in a weak whisper the girl asked:
“You forgive me, dear, for my suspicions, my distrust of you?”
The tears stood in Fandor’s eyes as he asked:
“But you do not distrust me any more?”
Elisabeth answered with a wan smile, and the young man sprang up impulsively and with outstretched hands, approached the grand duchess.
“Madam!” he cried, “never, madam, can I forget that it is thanks to you ...”
No less moved herself, the grand duchess returned Fandor’s hand clasp.