“You are a favourite of fortune, my dear fellow, but you have had the good sense to see when she smiled on you. Strike while the iron is hot. Every right-thinking young woman is grateful to her preserver, especially when he is so good to look at as you are. You don’t want me to give you any further hint.”
Corsini, more embarrassed than ever, murmured a reply that was almost inarticulate, but one expressing gratitude for his Excellency’s suggestions. He made his adieux hastily, anxious to be out of the chamber where these experienced men seemed to read his very soul.
Salmoros detained him a second. “Not quite so quick, my young friend. You will dine with me to-morrow night at my hotel; here is the address.” He added with a humorous smile, “That is to say, if this devil of a Zouroff leaves any of us alive.”
Corsini left the Winter Palace. He saw the figures of his faithful bodyguard hovering in the distance, pledged to watch after his safety, to protect him from the evil designs of his relentless enemy, that traitor Prince whom he had outwitted.
He bent his steps in the direction of Golitzine’s house. He was anxious to see the Princess again, but perhaps, had he not been spurred by the Count’s hints, he might not have dared to intrude upon her so soon.
The kiss of last night, when their lips had met for the first time! She had kissed him warmly then, in the exaltation of grateful feelings for her rescue from her ruffianly brother.
That was last night. Would the morning bring reflection, prudence? Would she remember the difference between their stations—recollect that she was a Princess of the highest lineage, he an artist, a genius, but a man of no birth or connections?
As he walked slowly along, his thoughts travelled back to the time when he had been in such despair that he had come one night to the conclusion life was no longer worth living. He remembered he had put that question to his devoted little sister, Anita, and she had answered bravely that she would leave the decision to him.