"You are the daughter of an old retainer, for whom I have a great esteem and affection. That in itself should reassure you. When I told your father I wished to bring you to Paris, he did not ask me for what object. He knew, and he knows, that you have nothing to fear while you are with me; that your honor is guarded by mine. I need your devoted, complete, and blind aid. I must not tell you why; young as you are, you will understand these things only too soon. It will be for me then to thank you and prove my gratitude. Until then do not question me; be surprised at nothing, no matter what I may require of you, or how strange and inexplicable the scenes may seem to be in which you will take part. I have chosen you to help me in accomplishing the end I aim at because you are young, beautiful, intelligent, and worthy of respect."
Her fine eyes, still tearful, fixed on her master's, Vera listened and scarcely understood the meaning of his words; but her calmness had returned. She was no longer frightened, and when the prince asked if he could count upon her obedience she took his hand and kissed it, replying:
"Your servant is your property. Do with her as you please."
At this moment there was a tap at the door, and Yvan entered with a letter for his master which a commissionaire had brought.
In it the princess told her husband that she was awaiting his instructions and was ready to follow them.
"Dear child," said Pierre Olsdorf to Vera as soon as they were again alone together, "the moment for action has come sooner than I looked for it. To-morrow we shall leave this hotel. Meanwhile dry your eyes and go for a drive with Yvan to see Paris, that you were so happy in the thought of visiting."
The prince pressed the young girl's hands gently, and left her still somewhat moved, but no longer alarmed. Fear had yielded to curiosity.
Pierre Olsdorf and Vera met again in the evening at dinner, and the meal was almost a merry one. Yvan had driven his countrywoman to the Champs Elysées, the Bois de Boulogne, and the Jardin d'Acclimation; and the daughter of Soublaieff, who had only seen St. Petersburg and the great park at Pampeln, was so astonished at what she beheld that, encouraged by the approving smile of her master, she told him with enthusiasm about all she had seen. At the end of the evening when she had retired to rest, she slipped into the large bed with a sort of indefinable pleasure after linking the name of the prince with that of God in her prayers.
Next day Pierre and Soublaieff's daughter were able to move into some charming rooms in the Rue Auber, in consequence of the sudden departure for St. Petersburg of the Countess Panine. She was charmed to be able to let Prince Olsdorf have her furnished rooms, leaving him, too, her cook and her maid, who, on account of her health, could not go with her mistress to Russia. In this way, within twenty-four hours, the prince had his house on a comfortable footing.
Thenceforward began for Vera a life she had never dreamed of, surprise following surprise. Every morning in waking her, Julie, the lady's maid, brought her flowers from the prince, and almost every day there was some present or other offered by himself—a jewel, or fan, or one of those costly gewgaws, which are so thoroughly identified with Parisian luxury.