At the same moment, as though the chauffeur had suddenly caught an order from within the limousine, the car swung directly toward him once more.
As he rejoined Ilse, who stood clasping the homeless cat to her breast, listlessly regarding the approaching automobile, the car swept in a swift circle around the fountain where they stood, stopped short beside them; and a woman flung open the door and sprang out to the pavement.
And Ilse Dumont, standing there in the rags of her frail gown, cuddling to her breast the purring cat, looked up to meet her doom in the steady gaze of the Princess Naïa Mistchenka.
Every atom of colour left her face, and her ashy lips parted. Otherwise, she made no sign of fear, no movement.
There was a second’s absolute silence; then the dark eyes of the Princess turned on Neeland. 402
“Good heavens, James!” she said. “What has happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he said gaily, “thanks to Miss Dumont––”
“To whom?” interrupted the Princess sharply.
“To Miss Dumont. We got into a silly place where it began to look as though we’d get our heads knocked off, Sengoun and I. I’m really quite serious, Princess. If it hadn’t been for Miss Dumont—” he shrugged; “—and that is twice she has saved my idiotic head for me,” he added cheerfully.
The Princess Naïa’s dark eyes reverted to Ilse Dumont, and the pallid girl met them steadily enough. There was no supplication in her own eyes, no shrinking, only the hopeless tranquillity that looks Destiny in the face—the gaze riveted unflinchingly upon the descending blow.