The prince had not replied, and Mme. Daubrel feared that her letters had not reached him, for she learned from inquiries at the Russian Embassy in Paris that within the past three years Prince Olsdorf had not appeared again in either Courland or St. Petersburg.
All that was known was that after leaving Russia he had visited Egypt, Zanzibar, and Mozambique, and that he had sailed for Japan, by way of Bourbon, the Isle de France, and the Sunda Straits.
In despair, Marthe decided to write to Vera Soublaieff and implore her to bring Alexander and Tekla to Paris. She had received an affecting letter from her in reply.
After mentioning that the latest account of the prince was dated from Calcutta, and that, according to his plans, he was to go straight to Bombay, the daughter of the farmer of Elva, still out of delicacy not calling by the name of her second husband her whom she had known as the Princess Olsdorf, wrote:
"Madame,—Pitying more than any one, from the bottom of my heart, Madame la Comtesse Lise Barineff, I could wish to give relief to her sufferings. I have not forgotten the affection that she deigned to show me when I was young, and I shall ever remember the agony she felt as a mother when she joined me to watch over her sick son, as well as that she had to leave Pampeln, alone, and bearing with her only the memory of the last caresses of her children.
"If I have devoted myself to them, tell her, I beg of you, that it was as much in memory of her as to fulfill the duty that I was proud to be charged with. But you ask of me what I can not do. I have not the right, and I am in despair about it. Prince Olsdorf ordered me never to take away Alexander and his sister from Pampeln, even for a day, though it were at the request of Madame Podoi. Providing against any chance, he even appointed the residence to which they were to be taken should anything happen at the château to force them to leave it.
"Forgive me, then, madame, and beg Madame la Comtesse to forgive me, too. Her children, whom I have taught to pray for her, will win from God the return of their mother's health, and perhaps better times are in store for her whom you love and whose hands I respectfully kiss."
"What a good and pure girl," murmured Mme. Paul Meyrin, when this letter was read to her.
Then, after a short and useless struggle with the thoughts which took hold upon her, she sunk into Marthe's arms, adding:
"And how worthy to be loved."