“That is the idea that is forming in his mind, Princess.”
“When will he put that idea into action, do you think?” was Nada’s next question.
“Corsini plays here at the Prince’s request to-morrow evening—is that not so?”
Yes, it was true. She had written the invitation herself at Zouroff’s request.
“Well, the Prince is a man who acts very rapidly when he has once made up his mind. It is my belief that whatever project he has formed will be put into execution to-morrow night.”
Nada put her hand to her brow. “It is horrible, Madame, unthinkable, that a brother of mine should stoop so low. Why should he have a secret so guilty, that he cannot afford to have it dragged forth into the light?”
Madame Quéro did not answer the question directly. “I fear, Princess, your brother is not a man easily to be read even by those who have lived in the same house with him.”
“What is it you suggest that I should do?” asked the Princess after a long pause. “Shall I meet him at the entrance and entreat him to go away at once, on some pretext or another? And what might follow if I took such a strange step? I cannot bring myself to confess to him that I suspect my own brother of base designs against him.”
It was a puzzling question, which Madame Quéro could not answer at once. For some moments the two women, their mutual hostility suspended for the time being, put their wits together. Suddenly an idea occurred to the singer.
“That maid of yours, who interviewed me on your behalf. Can you trust her?”