“I wish you joy, then. Go!”
She pointed again to the door, and he went out, conscious that she would have sold her soul for a weapon ready to her hand, and that if wishes could kill, neither Ernestine nor he would live much longer. In the excitement of the moment the Princess had ordered him out by the private door at the back of the boudoir, instead of that opening into the large drawing-room. As he entered the anteroom a female figure quitted it hastily by the opposite door, and the Scythian Captain Roburoff tried to look as if he had been alone for some hours.
“Ah, Roburoff, you here?” said Cyril, nodding to him.
“Simply on an errand for his Majesty, Count. I was the bearer of a letter to her Royal Highness.”
“And you were tempering duty with pleasure when I came in?”
The Scythian’s face darkened. “Do you—would you insult—pray consider, Count——”
“My dear fellow, we were all young once, even ladies-in-waiting. I wish you an uninterrupted interview next time.”
“All the same,” murmured Cyril, as he quitted the villa by the private door, leaving Captain Roburoff reassured, “I am much mistaken if the young lady was not Princess Lida, and not a dame d’honneur at all. I fear there are further troubles in store for my poor friend the Princess; but after thrusting King Michael back upon the unhappy girl once already, I really can’t bring myself to spoil her plans a second time. I wonder how long they have been carrying on this affair?”
CHAPTER IX.
VERSIONS DIFFER.
“Birnsdorf!” said the Princess.