Meanwhile, Mme. Daubrel drove to the Grand Hotel.
Vera Soublaieff had arrived there the previous evening, with Alexander and Tekla. When Mme. Daubrel was announced, she foreboded some misfortune. Leaving the young prince and his sister in the care of Mme. Bernard, she went quickly to the room into which the visitor had been shown.
"Mademoiselle," said Marthe, recognizing Vera in this beautiful girl with the sweet and serious face, "Madame Meyrin is dying; if you would have her embrace her son and daughter, there is not a moment to lose."
"You are Madame Daubrel, are you not?" said the farmer's daughter, "the devoted friend Madame la Comtesse spoke of to me at Pampeln. Yes, assuredly, I will take her children to her. I am expecting the prince at every moment. He will forgive me for acting without his orders. Poor mother!"
Vera Soublaieff rang, and gave the order to the footman, who answered the bell to send for a carriage.
"You are indeed the noble woman we all love," said Marthe, offering her hand.
"I only ask for time to write two lines, in case Prince Olsdorf should come while I am away. I will ask the governess to have the children ready. Go now; we will be at the Rue d'Assas as soon as you are."
"Thanks, mademoiselle, thanks. May God bless you!"
And quickly leaving the room, Mme. Daubrel went to her cab.
In ten minutes' time Vera was in the landau, with Alexander and Tekla, which had been driven up to the entrance to the Grand Hotel. The young prince and his sister knew they were going to see their mother again, and that she was dangerously ill. Alexander, who had his father's temperament, was grave; his paleness alone betrayed his emotion. Tekla was crying in the arms of Soublaieff's daughter.