“Thank you, I prefer to be here,” returned Zoe briskly. “You don’t know what a kindness you are doing me by keeping me where there are no visitors. I have not had an idle moment yet, and my time is fully occupied far ahead.”
M. Kirileff looked unaffectedly astonished, and Eirene interposed, in the languid tones of one weary of the subject.
“I regard you with compassion,” she said, “for I know that your facile imagination can make the wildest dreams appear realities to you. Your brother I cannot trust myself to see, for he has not the same excuse. If it was you who suggested the imposture, and induced him to acquiesce in it, I can only advise you to undo the harm you have done in leading astray an otherwise worthy young man. The good Father Athanasios will convey to him any message from you advising him to submit, but no others.”
“I’m sorry you took the trouble to make such an arrangement, for it won’t be wanted,” said Zoe. “And when you have had time to think things over, and realise what you have done, I shall be sorry for you, Eirene.”
“There is no use in prolonging this discussion, I think,” said Eirene to M. Kirileff. “We are not likely to meet again,” she added, over her shoulder, to Zoe, “but should you return to a better mind, I shall have pleasure in extending my patronage to you.”
Zoe returned to her cell fuming, and it was some time before she was sufficiently calm to resume her work, while Eirene turned away to begin her journey to Therma in M. Kirileff’s company. He had horses, servants and tents awaiting him below the rock, and a girl from the village had been impressed to wait upon her. She was treated with the utmost deference; her tent was pitched apart from the rest; her pleasure was consulted as to the hours of halting or starting again; but she was kept perpetually under surveillance. In her tent her maid watched her; if she wandered outside it, two cavasses kept her faithfully in sight; on the march M. Kirileff, riding beside her, at precisely the right distance to the rear, divided his attention between her face and the track. He had a way of leading the conversation round to Maurice and Zoe, or to her experiences in the brigands’ camp, but her replies baffled him. They told so little that he could draw no conclusions, and they expressed still less. It was with a mixture of resentment and relief that he handed her over at last to the care of Madame Ladoguin, and gave his final instructions to that lady in private.
“I hope you may have better success with our charming Princess than I have had,” he said. “I no longer wonder that she was able to plan and effect her escape from Scythia as she did.”
“Well, you could hardly expect her, after her late experiences, to confide in so youthful and débonnaire a person as yourself, could you?” smiled his hostess. “But with a woman, and one who has seen something of her world, it may be different.”
“If there is any one in the world who can win her confidence, it is Chariclea Feodorovna,” said M. Kirileff, with every appearance of fervent conviction; “and I only trust she may.”
“Why?” the quick note of alarm in the lady’s voice showed that she scented danger. “You don’t imagine that she has any sympathy with the impostor?”