He had sometimes said to himself that the prince at last would be surprised at his wife's long stay in Paris, and that in casting about a bit he would easily find out that it was not merely care for her health which kept her away from Russia. But like an irresolute man who dares not look danger in the face, the artist would not dwell in fancy on the possible consequences of his amour with a married woman, and now that the upshot was near he trembled.
"Read it, any way," he said, in a changed voice.
The curtain had just fallen on the first act of the "Pré aux Clercs." The princess rose from her chair, and supposing that Paul's fear was for her alone, she pressed his hand; then, with quick fingers, she opened the letter. It contained only these few lines:
"Madame,—Made acquainted with the true reason for your long stay in Paris, I am come hither not to force you to return to your husband's roof, but to insist upon the only possible ending, according to my view, of the situation that you have made. Desiring, therefore, to see you as soon as possible, I will call upon you at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning.
"Do not fear either a scene or reproaches. You will not have to treat with the outraged husband, but merely with a father who would not that his son should have either a compromised mother, or a dishonored name.
"Prince Pierre Olsdorf."
After reading this letter several times, which was full of threats the more serious the less they were defined, the princess handed it to Paul Meyrin.
He ran through it rapidly, and, not less alarmed than his mistress, said:
"What will you do?"
"I don't know."