“He will see me. I am his daughter, and have come straight from England because he sent for me. Take me to him immediately, if you please.” The waiter gave way before the tone of calm command.
“Madame will know best, no doubt,” he said with a bow, and led the way up-stairs, Nadia following him closely. Her journey was not in vain; for at least her father was not dead.
“Mother,” suggested Philippa, pulling at her mother’s cape as they reached the landing, “perhaps he means that grandpa is asleep.”
“I shan’t disturb him, Phil. You and Usk had better wait outside, and I will just go in very quietly and look at him.”
But the door which the waiter flung open with the announcement, “A lady from England to see the Herr Oberst,” was not that of a bedroom, and the children, looking in with astonished eyes, saw their mother pause and start as soon as she had crossed the threshold. A number of men were sitting round a table laden with fruit and wine in a gorgeously furnished sitting-room, and stared at the intruder in amazement; while a white-haired man at the head of the board, who seemed to be engaged in concocting a bowl of punch, dropped the lemon he had been manipulating, and turned round in his chair to gaze.
“And is ut you, Nadia?” he cried heartily, after a moment of stunned silence. “Come in, come in! My daughter, gentlemen.”
“You asked me to come. You said you were ill,” gasped Nadia, catching at the door to steady herself.
“And sure I was ill. If I’m all right again now, thanks to the doctor here, you’d not grudge ut me, would you?”
As she made no answer, but stood gazing at him with dilated eyes and parted lips, he rose and came towards her, supporting himself with a stick.
“’Twas good of you to come, Nadia, and if I’d known it would give you pleasure, sure I’d have stayed in bed to receive you. But never so much as a telegram to let me know you were coming; how in the world could I even meet you at the train? Come, sit down, and don’t stand looking at me like a voiceless banshee. What is ut, at all?”