“My wife tells me you are recovering from the shock. The doctor assures me you will be yourself again to-morrow. I am only too pleased that my house should be your refuge. And you want to know all that has happened since your rascally brother had you drugged and thrust into that carriage.”
He drew forward the shrinking man, hovering shamefacedly in the background.
“Here is your preserver, Nada.” He always called her by her Christian name; he had known her from a child. “You see, he is a common man, dressed in rough clothes, his face and hands proclaiming his calling. But he is your preserver, and you will thank him.”
He spoke with that half-humorous, half-cynical smile which was almost characteristic.
Corsini nervously advanced to the bed on which the Princess was lying and recovering her scattered senses.
“You are safe, dear lady,” he said, softly. “Thank Heaven you are safe.”
She recognised the voice. She penetrated through the veil of the rough clothes, the stained face and hands. She uttered a little joyful cry.
“Ah, Signor Corsini, it is you who are my preserver?”
Corsini bent over her. “It has been my turn, Princess. You saved me at Pavlovsk, I have paid back my debt in St. Petersburg.”