"Then," said Mme. Meyrin, "help me. I shall not be long. There is not a moment to lose. The train for Berlin leaves at eight o'clock. I must catch it."
In less than half an hour, after thrusting into a valise what things were absolutely necessary and sending a telegram to her mother announcing her coming, Lise was ready.
"Adieu," she said to Mme. Daubrel, giving into her arms her little daughter, whom she covered with kisses and tears. "Adieu. Pray for my son."
A few minutes later, alone, without a servant, her veil lowered as if she were a fugitive, the ex-Princess Olsdorf got into a cab, and told the driver to take her to the Great Northern Railway Station.
CHAPTER VI.
LISE AND VERA.
On returning next day from Amiens, whither he had really been, and not finding his wife in the Rue d'Assas, but merely this brief note, or rather line: "Paul, my son is dying; I am going to save him," M. Meyrin was amazed, and supposed that Lise had invented the story as a cover for her flight from the house. As if a mother would dare to tell this lie.
Vera Soublaieff's telegram, which Mme. Meyrin had not taken with her, proved at once that he was wrong. Yet for awhile he was uncertain whether or not to approve the journey. The thought occurred to him suddenly that Prince Olsdorf might be at Pampeln. He felt himself growing jealous of this man, whose worth he knew, and who, he was aware, had been deeply in love with the woman who bore his name.
Moreover, in this château, once hers, Mme. Meyrin would feel all the memories of her former high position. She could not fail to compare it with the humdrum life she led at Paris. The painter was humiliated in advance by the comparison.
Unwilling to see that it was only to nurse her son that the poor mother was gone, pricking himself on to blame her, and feeling offended at not having been at least consulted, he soon brought himself to think there was no excuse for her.
"Has she not another child with a claim on all her care?" he said to himself. "By what right does she go away like this?"