The stranger looked at her in astonishment, blushed deeply, and then added:
“Permit me to hope that you will come and see me every day; but I should like the prince not to know of your visits.”
Vanina’s heart beat fast; the stranger’s manners seemed to her full of distinction. This poor young woman had no doubt offended some powerful person. Had she, perhaps, in a moment of jealousy, killed her lover? Vanina could not conceive of a commonplace reason for her misfortune. The stranger told her that she had received a wound in the shoulder, which had penetrated to her chest and was causing her much suffering. She often found her mouth full of blood.
“Yet you have no surgeon?” exclaimed Vanina.
“You are aware,” said the stranger, “that at Rome the surgeons have to give the police an exact report of all the wounds that they treat. The prince condescends to bind up my wounds with his own hands, in the cloth which you see.”
With the most perfect grace, the stranger avoided any bemoaning over her accident; Vanina loved her to madness. One thing, however, astonished the young princess greatly, namely that, in the middle of a conversation which was certainly serious enough, the stranger had great difficulty in suppressing a sudden desire to laugh.
“I should be happy,” said Vanina, “to know your name.”
“They call me Clementine.”
“Well, dear Clementine, to-morrow at five o’clock I’ll come and see you.”
Next day, Vanina found her new friend very ill.