“No, listen. I was sitting outside, when he came up the hill with a bundle of wood. He stumbled and nearly fell, and called out in Scythian—not in the mixed language the others speak. Then he recollected himself, and looked round to see whether any one had heard. I thought it was curious, and spoke to him in Scythian, and he told me Professor Panagiotis had sent him.”
“The Professor? To Maurice?”
“No, to me. He guessed which I was when he saw me venerate the ikons, and the stumble and the exclamation in Scythian were meant to draw my attention.”
“But how did the Professor know you were here?”
“I asked him that, but he did not seem to know—seemed to think that Professor Panagiotis had been expecting me as he had you, but I told him no. Then he said the Professor must have put two and two together when he heard I had disappeared, but he had not told him about it.”
“I hope it’s all right,” murmured Zoe doubtfully.
“What could there be wrong about it? He said that he was to warn me of a plan the Professor hoped to carry out—and that I should not go down to Therma with you when we are released, lest I should be recognised by some one belonging to the Scythian colony. But I refused to contemplate such a thing. I said I would not be separated from my faithful friends until we were all in safety.”
“Eirene, I don’t believe the man came from Professor Panagiotis at all!” cried Zoe. “I can’t imagine the Professor would choose a messenger who talked Scythian, and why should he send him to you instead of to us?”
The question in her mind was, naturally, whether the Professor could have changed his mind and be playing Maurice false, but to Eirene her doubt seemed the outcome of self-esteem wounded by an apparent slight.
“I must really explain things to you, Zoe,” she said, with a gentleness which she did not intend to be patronising. “I am Eirene Nicolaievna Féofan, and the Professor is intrusted with the honourable task of restoring to me the throne of my imperial ancestors.”