“I have heard you,” replied the other, “with great interest.”
“With singular patience,” said the prince politely.
“Ay, your highness, and with unlooked-for sympathy,” returned the young man. “I know not how to tell the change that has befallen me. You have, I must suppose, a charm, to which even your enemies are subject.” He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and visibly blanched. “So late!” he cried. “Your highness—God knows I am now speaking from the heart—before it be too late, leave this house!”
The prince glanced once more at his companion, and then very deliberately shook the ash from his cigar. “That is a strange remark,” said he; “and à propos de bottes, I never continue a cigar when once the ash is fallen; the spell breaks, the soul of the flavour flies away, and there remains but the dead body of tobacco; and I make it a rule to throw away that husk and choose another.” He suited the action to the words.
“Do not trifle with my appeal,” resumed the young man, in tones that trembled with emotion. “It is made at the price of my honour and to the peril of my life. Go—go now! lose not a moment; and if you have any kindness for a young man, miserably deceived indeed, but not devoid of better sentiments, look not behind you as you leave.”
“Sir,” said the prince, “I am here upon your honour; I assure you upon mine that I shall continue to rely upon that safeguard. The coffee is ready; I must again trouble you, I fear.” And with a courteous movement of the hand, he seemed to invite his companion to pour out the coffee.
The unhappy young man rose from his seat. “I appeal to you,” he cried, “by every holy sentiment, in mercy to me, if not in pity to yourself, begone before it is too late.”
“Sir,” replied the prince, “I am not readily accessible to fear; and if there is one defect to which I must plead guilty, it is that of a curious disposition. You go the wrong way about to make me leave this house, in which I play the part of your entertainer; and, suffer me to add, young man, if any peril threaten us, it was of your contriving, not of mine.”
“Alas, you do not know to what you condemn me,” cried the other. “But I at least will have no hand in it.” With these words he carried his hand to his pocket, hastily swallowed the contents of a phial, and, with the very act, reeled back and fell across his chair upon the floor. The prince left his place and came and stood above him, where he lay convulsed upon the carpet. “Poor moth!” I heard his highness murmur. “Alas, poor moth! must we again inquire which is the more fatal—weakness or wickedness? And can a sympathy with ideas, surely not ignoble in themselves, conduct a man to this dishonourable death?”
By this time I had pushed the door open and walked into the room. “Your highness,” said I, “this is no time for moralising; with a little promptness we may save this creature’s life; and as for the other, he need cause you no concern, for I have him safely under lock and key.”