Prince Romanos spread forth his hands helplessly. “I can see as well as you do to what suspicions I exposed myself,” he said; “but I was simply not in a position to take up the matter properly. I could not afford to alienate my people by allowing my marriage to come to light at the moment, and as mother and child were both dead, so far as I knew, it seemed the wisest course to hush things up for a time, and inquire into them fully afterwards.”
“It was undoubtedly the most convenient course for yourself at the time,” said the Cavaliere, with deadly meaning.
“What do you insinuate, monsieur?” the Prince asked him sharply.
“I insinuate nothing, I accuse. At that time you were negociating for the hand of the Grand Duchess Feodora. Unfortunately there was an obstacle; you had a wife already. Your wife refused to be pensioned off or to allow herself to be repudiated. Therefore you sent a detachment of your guards to murder her, under the ruffian Petros, your confidential servant. To order the death of the child was too much even for you, but you drove him from you with his nurse, and Petros knew what he was intended to do. But for the meeting with Prince Theophanis and Colonel Wylie, neither nurse nor child would have been seen again. In intention you murdered them as truly as in fact you murdered your unhappy wife and her servants.”
CHAPTER XVII.
THE USE OF FRIENDS.
There was a moment’s hush of expectation when the Cavaliere had hurled his charges at his son-in-law. Prince Romanos met them characteristically.
“Princess,” he said, turning to Zoe, “do you believe that I murdered my wife?”
“No, I don’t,” said Zoe.
“Then I am content. If one so skilled in the knowledge of the human heart—a woman, too—can acquit me, what more can I ask?”
“This is all very pretty and poetical,” said Wylie impatiently, “but merely as a matter of curiosity, Prince, we should like to know what defence you propose to offer if your father-in-law publishes throughout Europe the accusation he has just made.”