She put her disengaged hand to her head and tried to collect her scattered thoughts. “Ah, I remember, my brother said he would send me to Tchernoff, and I did not believe he would dare to carry out his threat.”
She burst into bitter weeping as the subsequent events forced themselves on her half-numbed brain, her seizure by two burly men, a handkerchief pressed tightly over her face. Then a blank till she woke up here.
She was clearer now. “Yes, I can recall certain things. But how did I come here? How was I rescued on the road to Tchernoff?”
“My dear, I do not know myself. I had gone to bed early; my husband said he would be working into the morning, as is often his custom. I was in a deep sleep when he woke me suddenly. He told me that you and your maid were being brought in, that you were drugged, that he had sent for a doctor to bring you round. I have been here with the doctor till you came back to consciousness. Would you like to see the Count?”
“Indeed I would,” cried Nada, whose faculties were quickly coming back to her. “I cannot calm myself until I know what happened between my leaving the Palace and arriving here. And, as well as thanking you, dear Countess, for all your kindness to me, I would like to thank your husband also. It is not a time of night to receive uninvited, or unexpected guests.”
Madame Golitzine went down to her husband’s room and found him closeted with Corsini, who had given him a full account of the proceedings at the Villa Quéro, of his driving back with Zouroff to the Palace, of his stratagem in jumping on the box and driving off, to the surprise of the Prince and his two burly ruffians.
The Count had chuckled at the end of the narrative. Things were shaping well for him, to-morrow he would hear his Emperor’s hearty cry of—“Well done, Golitzine. I knew you would beat them in the end.”
“Corsini, my dear fellow, you are wasted on music. Give it up, and I will get you a big post in the Secret Police.”
But the Italian shook his head. “Many thanks, Excellency, but I do not really love this excitement. Music was my first love, it will be my last.”
The Countess came in. She knew Corsini well, but did not recognise him in the rough clothes of Stepan, with his face and hands stained.