The Princess Mistchenka lifted the cat from her lap and placed it in the arms of Ilse Dumont.
“That ought to win our gratitude, I’m sure,” she said politely to the girl. “We Russians never forget such pleasant obligations. There is a Cossack jingle:
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“To those who befriend our friends Our duty never ends.” |
Ilse Dumont bent low over the purring cat in her lap; the Princess watched her askance from moment to moment, and Neeland furtively noted the contrast between these women—one in rags and haggard disorder; the other so trim, pretty, and fresh in her morning walking suit.
“James,” she said abruptly, “we’ve had a most horrid night, Ruhannah and I. The child waited up for you, it seems—I thought she’d gone to bed—and she came to my room about two in the morning—the little goose—as though men didn’t stay out all night!”
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said contritely.
“You ought to be.... And Ruhannah was so disturbed that I put on something and got out of bed. And after a while”—the Princess glanced sardonically 405 at Ilse Dumont—“I telephoned to various sources of information and was informed concerning the rather lively episodes of your nocturnal career with Sengoun. And when I learned that you and he had been seen to enter the Café des Bulgars, I became sufficiently alarmed to notify several people who might be interested in the matter.”
“One of those people,” said Neeland, smiling, “was escorted to her home by Captain Sengoun, I think.”
The Princess glanced out of the window where the early morning sun glimmered on the trees as the car flew swiftly through the Champs Elysées.
“I heard that there were some men killed there last night,” she said without turning.