He turned to the young Italian. “It carries me back to that night at the little inn at Pavlovsk, but you were a more difficult case. Then you had had more than one dose. These young women have had only one. I should say, by the symptoms, a similar drug, administered by the same hand.”
“Right, doctor; I will tell you all in good time,” said Golitzine; “but perhaps in a few days all St. Petersburg may hear of it. You will see them in the morning?”
The doctor promised to call early the next day, but he assured them that they need fear no anxiety; both young women had vigorous constitutions. He was too discreet to mention that he had recognised one of them as the Princess Nada. He had often seen her at the Opera and driving in the Nevski Prospekt.
And Golitzine was a man to appreciate discretion; he could do much for this young doctor if he chose; therefore he would keep his mouth shut till it was time for him to open it. Golitzine saw him to the door and laid his finger impressively upon his lip.
“Silence for the present, doctor, as to all these strange events you have witnessed. I charge myself with your future advancement.” The doctor bowed and went his way.
Upstairs, Nada was slowly regaining her senses. She looked round the big, handsomely-furnished chamber. On a sofa, a little away, was stretched the form of Katerina, recovering more slowly than her mistress.
“How did I come here? Where am I?” she murmured.
The Countess Golitzine, a handsome woman, some twenty years younger than her husband, was sitting by the bedside, holding the Princess’s hand.
She whispered in a kind voice: “Do not speak much, my dear Nada, you are too tired; but be quite sure you are amongst friends. Do you recognise me?”
Memory came back in the wake of that long stupor. “The Countess Golitzine, of course; we met a few days ago. But why am I in your house and not at the Palace?”