about two weeks from the time of the unwelcome visit to her of prince khris, the duchess of otterbourne, descending the terrace steps of her hotel, met, as he ascended them, young woffram of karstein.
“how dull you look!” she said to him. “what on earth is the matter? are you going to enliven us with a sensational suicide?”
the young man smiled, but with no mirth in his smile.
“something horrible has happened, though not a suicide,” he answered sadly. “my poor granduncle khris, the one who came to you the other day, has fallen down in a fit at the rouge-et-noir table yonder.”
with a gesture toward the east he indicated monte carlo, which lay in the distant curves of the coast.
“is he dead?” she said eagerly.
“no. but he is dying. hugo von börn told me. he has just come from there. he saw it.”
“you seem singularly afflicted!” said mouse with a little laugh to conceal the impression which the news made on herself.
“well,” said prince woffram with embarrassment, “the death of a good man, you know, isn’t half so shocking as the death of a bad one.”
“indeed?” said mouse. “i should have thought just the contrary. but then i don’t see things by the light of the lutheran religion! where did prince khris live? who had he with him? who will look after him?”
“i fear he is past looking after. where his lodgings were i don’t know; they were something very poor, for all his money went at the tables. i think—don’t you think?—i ought to go and see if i can do anything for him?”
“but your people don’t know him, you say?”
“no; but when an old man is dying things seem different. i think i ought to go.”
[525]“telegraph for your father’s permission,” said mouse, leaning against the balustrade and playing with her long gold muff chain. she was thinking of many things: she was certain in her own mind that the man now stricken down at monte carlo could tell much about his daughter’s divorce, if he could not, which she thought possible, tell that which would reunite his daughter and vanderlin. it would never do to let his grandnephew, who was simplicity and veracity incarnate, get to the bedside and hear what might be the deathbed confessions. she wished to do that herself, for knowledge is always power.
the complete security with which khris of karstein had told her that he would prevent her schemes as to vanderlin ever bearing fruition, must certainly point to one thing only, that he had the means to clear the character of his daughter to her divorced husband.
she hastily reasoned that, however odd it might look to others, she must see the old man before he died. after all, her visit to him could be put upon charity; poor charity has borne many heavier and uglier burdens than the rosy children with which correggio loaded her.
she felt moreover that she would like to see him, lying speechless, paralyzed, impatient; he had been so odiously rude!
still playing with the long gold chain, she turned her eyes on young woffram, dazzling him with their azure light.
“i feel like a brute to do nothing for him,” said the good-natured young cuirassier. “as to telegraphing to my father it would be a mere waste of money; he would never bear his uncle khristof’s name mentioned.”
“then i think you would do very foolishly to go near the old man,” said his friend. “it would embroil you with your people, and go against you at berlin. i told you the other day that i am not afraid of compromising myself by being kind to people who are under a cloud. i will go and see after prince khris if you like; i was going to monte carlo to-morrow—i will go to-day instead. there is a train in an hour. i will telegraph you word how he is.”
the young man stared at her.
[526]it seemed very angelic, but he was not accustomed to see her in such an angelic light, though he adored her. simple and unsuspecting though he was he could not help seeing that there must be some interest in this offered charity beyond the benevolence visible on the surface.
“it would be wonderfully good of you,” he said with hesitation. “but would it not look rather odd?”
“i never care what a thing looks,” she replied with impatience, “and really, my dear wuffie, i don’t believe even an international jury of british and german matrons would put a scandalous interpretation on a visit to a dying man of seventy-eight years of age!”
“he’s only sixty-eight,” murmured his grandnephew. “but of course, if you don’t mind, it would be exceedingly kind of you, and—and——”
“where is prince khris living—do you know?”
“no.”
“oh, i can soon find out when i get there. he won’t be far from the casino.”
the young soldier was surprised. he had not thought charity abode within the white bosom of his enchanting friend. he could not easily imagine her sitting by a discarded and despised old sinner’s deathbed. he had seen her in many characters but never in that of the ministering angel when pain and anguish wring the brow.
“what on earth is she up to?” he thought, and said a little awkwardly:
“he didn’t win much, i think; he’d just got on a run of the rouge when he dropped——”
“my dear wuffie, i’m not going to steal his winnings!” said mouse with her pretty crystal-clear laugh. “i’ve known him a long time, poor old man, and it’s only human to go and look after him. people at monte carlo are wild beasts, and they didn’t look off the tables i dare say, when he fell, and i am sure none of them will go near him. i shall take the two o’clock train; you can come over on sunday as we agreed.”
prince woffram meekly acquiesced. he felt that there was something which he did not understand in the air; although not very quick of perception, and although very much enamored, he vaguely suspected that his unknown[527] greatuncle must possess letters or papers or knowledge which might compromise this ministering angel if she did not get to the bedside before somebody else. he adored her, but he had no illusions about her, the few he had ever had, like roses rudely shaken, had fallen before the merciless revelations of his friend boo.
boo and her governess accompanied her that day on her mission of mercy. she knew too well the value as social shield of her little daughter’s presence. she was genuinely fond of the child; but if she had not been fond of her, she would nevertheless have appreciated and utilized the safety which lies in such an accompaniment. as for the governess, she was discretion itself, saw nothing, heard nothing, that she was not to see and hear, and was easily purchased for all eternity by a bracelet at christmas or a ring at easter.
as the train ran through the beautiful coast scenery, so familiar to her that she had ceased even to look at it, she had such a vague titillation of curiosity and excitement as a young panther may feel who for the first time smells a human footprint on the grass. she liked intrigue and comedy for their own sakes; even if they had no consequences they passed the time amusingly and lent a sense of ability and power. the combinations of life are like those of whist or chess—they exercise the intelligence, they flatter the consciousness of skill.
she was more convinced than ever that prince khris had the power to reunite his daughter and her divorced husband. the idea of a femme tarée reigning over the beautiful les mouettes was odious to her and ridiculous. she had a most profound contempt for women who were compromised. she felt for them what the head of the herd is said to feel for the lamed and stricken deer. she had indeed no patience with them, for it was they, the silly demonstrative creatures, who set society’s back up and made things uncomfortable for wiser persons. a woman like olga zu lynar who had married into all this money and had not known how to keep it seemed to her perfectly idiotic. she felt that if she herself had acquired all these millions her own conduct would have been perfectly exemplary; at all events wholly unattackable.
[528]but she desired intensely to know the truth about this unworthy divorcée, since until she did know it she could not make her own plans with any chance of success. as the train swung on through the tunnels her pity for herself was extreme; it was cruelly hard that she should always be driven to do all kinds of unpleasant and dubious things because other people were so inconsiderate and annoying.
why could not old khris have had his fit before coming to interfere about vanderlin? she could not really be sure that he had not already seen vanderlin; the latter had been impenetrable, and clearly on his guard that day of the breakfast at les mouettes. she felt that she was playing a dangerous game in the dark—playing lawn-tennis blindfolded. but it therefore interested her the more.
it was the merest chance that she would gain anything by visiting the old man; but, on the other hand, she would not lose anything, and she would look amiable; it seemed to her also clever to have remembered the few words about him which had been spoken by the archduke. it is just such à propos remembrance, such connection of trifles, which make clever detectives and successful spies. as the train ran on she apparently listened to the chatter of boo over a big sack of bonbons and a big bouquet of lilies of the valley, but in herself she was thinking that her ingenuity and intelligence had merited a better fate than that of having to worry about hotel bills and scheme to marry a banker. she did not like the idea of marrying vanderlin, she did not think he would be facile, though he had the reputation of being generous; she did not think that he would be likely to let her make ducks and drakes of european finance as it would have diverted her to do in his place; he looked grave, he was serious and sad, and he bored her. besides, she would have preferred to marry no one. but there was nothing else that she could do, or at least nothing else which promised so well, which offered so much solidity and comfort for the future. therefore she went on through the olive-woods and by the edge of the blue sea to monte carlo.
when boo and the bouquets and bonbons were left in safety at the hotel de paris, she caused herself to be[529] dressed in the simplest black gown she possessed, put a grey golfing-cloak over that, and with a felt hat and a thick veil went out all alone; hoping to pass unperceived in this place which was filled with hundreds of men and women of her world, and hundreds also of worlds of which hers knew nothing.
she had learned that prince khris was to be found in a house out of the town, where he had a modest chamber, whither he had been carried speechless and apparently unconscious on the previous night, when he had dropped, huddled and bent like a collapsed marionette, amidst a crowd of gamblers who scarcely turned their heads to see what had happened.
it was a small poor chamber over a grocer’s shop in the outskirts, in which there lay dying the man who had seen sentinels present arms when he had passed as a young child in his donkey chaise, with a lady of his father’s court in charge of him, across the platz of the small ducal city.
she felt a sense of pain as she ascended the narrow uncarpeted stair in the close unpleasant atmosphere.
“has he not even a valet?” she said to the old woman who left the shop to show her the way upstairs.
“no, madame,” answered the woman. “we look after the poor old gentleman as well as we can; there is only me and my sister; and one of us must attend to the business.”
mouse shivered a little as she heard; it was a realization of indigence by which she had never been before confronted. want of money she had known, and debt and great anxiety; but she had never been without servants, up a rickety stair, above a smelly little shop. it shocked her to see a man of this rank, of her own world, thus utterly abandoned like any beggar who had fallen by the roadside.
the frightful callousness of human nature when it is not softened by deference to wealth and self-interest struck her with its chill brutality like a handful of ice flung in her face. she was no kinder herself; still the realization of the rough and jeering egotism of the world momentarily hurt her. she thought of buckingham dying[530] alone in the garret. there was the solidarity of class between her and the fallen prince; and there was also the possibility that she herself might some day, in some far away old age, be no better off than he.
the woman opened a low door as she spoke, and mouse saw into the room—a poor place with grey walls, a brick floor, spare furniture, and a narrow bed, whereon lay what was left of the once courtly and elegant person of prince khristof of karstein. there was one window through which the slope of an olive-covered hill was visible.
he was conscious, though motionless and speechless; he opened his eyes at the unclosing of the door, but he did not recognize his visitor through her thick veil. his features were twisted and drawn, his hands lay supinely on the rough woollen coverlet; he looked almost already a corpse: there was only life in the steel-blue, watching, apprehensive eyes, into which at her appearance there came a gleam of wonder, perhaps of hope.
“it is very horrible!” she said, with a thrill of genuine distress.
“are you a relation, madame?” said the woman of the house.
“only a friend. does the doctor come often? what does he say?”
“he comes but little,” replied the woman. “he knows he will never be paid, and he knows nothing will be of any use.”
“is it quite hopeless?”
“it is only a question of hours.”
“why did you not send for a sœur?”
“we did, but they are all out. will you be at the charge of the burial, madame?”
“send for another,” said mouse; “there are scores of them.”
“will madame guarantee all expenses?” asked the woman.
mouse hesitated; she did not wish to have her visit there known or her name given.
“i am sure the family of the prince will repay everything,” she answered. “they are great people.”
[531]the woman smiled dubiously. “is he really a prince, madame? they are all princes here, but they pawn their shirts all the same.”
“he is really a prince—a serene highness; he is allied by blood to one imperial house and two royal houses.”
the woman looked dubious still; a napoleon would have better eased her doubts.
“that is nothing, madame,” she said with contempt; “those people pay less willingly than anybody.”
during this colloquy the eyes of prince khris watched intently; his brain was not clear, and his ears seemed stuffed up and filled with buzzing noises, but he understood that they were talking of him. she had put back her veil and he had recognized her. why was the blonde devil there? why was not olga there instead? he had forgotten time, he had only a confused notion of things; he had recognized the blonde devil and he was afraid she should get at his papers, but all the rest was mist and confusion. his memory of his daughter was of her as a little child—a little child in a white frock, with a pearl necklace and great brown eyes and a cloud of dark soft hair. when she had been a little child he had never done her any harm.
the old dame retired, well pleased to see a lady take her place, and she, left alone, came up to the bedside forcing herself to conquer her natural aversion to painful and unlovely scenes: she was vaguely afraid of that mute, paralyzed figure. she dreaded intensely lest the doctor should arrive before she should have been able to do what she desired; but for that reason she deemed it prudent to seem anxious for his presence. no one bent on a dubious errand would ever endeavor to hasten a doctor’s arrival. the motionless figure on the bed looked entirely unlike the man whom she had known as khris kar: entirely unlike except for those steel-blue eyes which were staring at her without recognition, but with challenge and inquiry, for his brain was still conscious. that gaze frightened her. after all, what business had she to be there? she was momentarily unnerved; but she had courage and audacity, and she controlled her nerves and looked away[532] not to see those searching eyes in the lean, waxen, distorted face.
she went to the window and closed the wooden blinds, for the setting sun was strong though winter was scarce past. then she took off her hat and veil, and moved about the small chamber putting it in order as she had seen nurses do in sick-rooms, and filling a glass with fresh water from a pitcher which stood on the floor. the place was horrible to her; its air was close, its scent bad, its floor was not clean, the chairs were rush-bottomed, the table was deal; but there was one thing which belonged to a different sphere, one thing which attracted her and seemed to suggest that her errand might not be fruitless—it was a despatch-box of russian leather, with initials and the crown of a serene highness in gold or silver gilt above its lock. if there were any papers of consequence in the room, that box, much battered by frequent travel, contained them. moreover, when she approached and dusted it, she saw the eyes of the man on the bed dilate with menace. she left it at once and cut a lemon into the glass of water and went to the bedside with the drink. the shaded light fell across the bed. she saw the eyes of the paralytic stare upward at her. then into them came a ray of comprehension—a flash of hate.
“it is the blonde devil,” thought the still conscious brain, which had lost all power to communicate its thoughts to the lips and tongue.
“dear prince, do you know me?” said his visitor very softly. “i am so sorry to find you here, and so ill. i should like to be of some use.”
the kind, soft words found their way to the dulled, imprisoned brain; she saw that by the expression of the eyes; for the eyes in answer said to her: “i am half dead—i am almost wholly dead; but i am not so utterly dead yet that i can be fooled by you. blonde devil, what is it that you come here to seek?”
she observed that his eyes, leaving her face, turned anxiously in the direction where the despatch-box was; she saw also that round his throat was a steel chain with a small gold key. in that box was there any message for his daughter, or for vanderlin, or any proof that he had[533] brought about their separation? it was evident that he was afraid the box should be touched. this interested her. she was pleased that her instinct had led her right. she did not dare to act in any way; he might not be entirely paralyzed as the people said; he might not be so absolutely sure to die, or to remain speechless until his death; she knew nothing about his malady, except that he had dropped down suddenly when punting at monte carlo.
she felt that he suspected her, that he would, if he had use of his voice, have ordered her out of the room; she read all that in his regard. prudence necessitated the continuance of the very tiresome rôle of ministering angel. she dared do nothing until the doctor should have confirmed the hopelessness of his state. she was excruciatingly bored, and somewhat frightened. the horrible spectre on the bed looked like a ghoul so lean, so colorless, so distorted, so motionless. she had nothing to do, she felt a palpitating terror lest he should recover the power of speech; she believed that people struck down by hemiplegia did so recover it sometimes. she held a spoonful of lemonade to his shut lips; but he did not open them, he only glared at her. the spoon was of a common white metal, ugly, yellow, discolored; she hated to touch it.
at that moment a heavy step was heard on the stair and a broad, bearded, rough-looking man entered with his hat on his head; it was the doctor.
“sapristi!” he shouted very angrily; “what do you send for again and again and again. the man is as good as dead. all the science in the world could not save him. you waste my time. you——”
catching sight then of a lady in the room he pulled off his hat and muttered his excuses: he was very busy, he had many sick people, people who were curable, the man on the bed could not recover.
“oh, pray do not say so!” said mouse with much apparent feeling. “do they not recover sometimes? i think i have heard——”
“a man of that age cannot recover,” said the doctor impatiently. “he is practically dead already. he will[534] not live through the night, if you can call him still living. you are a relation?”
“no. but i have known him in other years, when he was less—less fortunate; and i know all his people.”
“the lady says they are royal,” murmured the woman of the house.
“royal!” echoed the doctor with scorn. “if they were the consul would be after him like a dog after a bone.”
the consul! mouse remembered with a shock that such a person might indeed arrive at any moment. she had not thought of this possibility.
the doctor had gone up to the bed, turned down the bedclothes, placed his stethoscope over the heart, and listened.
“he will die in three or four hours,” he said, as he turned again from the bed. “the heart is exhausted; it has lost almost all power of propulsion. let me hear when all is over. madame, your servant.”
he hurried out of the room, clapping his hat on his head and noisily clattering down the stairs.
“you may go,” said mouse to the woman of the house. “i will stay a few hours here. meantime try and get a sœur de charité.”
“who will pay for all this expense, madame?” said the woman. “who will pay for the burial and all the rest?”
“you must send to the german consul—he will tell you,” said mouse. “i ought to have thought of it before. i cannot stay here much longer, but i will stay till someone in authority comes. go; send at once to the consulate.”
“you talk very glibly of sending here and there and everywhere,” said the woman rather rudely.
mouse put ten francs into the woman’s hand, wishing to make a friend of her. “and send for the consul at once that i may speak to him,” she added, for she always remembered appearances.
it was growing dark. by her watch it was a quarter to six. all light had faded off the olive-clad slope in front of the window. she had had no afternoon tea. she began to want her dinner, and, after all, she might be boring herself to no purpose, on a mere fool’s errand.
[535]the woman came in with a petroleum lamp smelling atrociously.
“send for a nun,” said mouse, who only desired to get rid of her. “send for another doctor. the prince cannot lie like this.”
“very well, madame,” said the woman. “but errands cost money. people won’t run messages for nothing.”
mouse gave her some more silver and bade her find a messenger. she was anxious to be rid of her, for in her presence it was impossible to open the box. she was resolved to open it. it was not a pleasant thing to do, but she had an intuitive sense that it was worth doing.
she was glad that neither the woman nor the doctor had asked her who she was. she summoned all her fortitude to her assistance and approached the bed.
she saw that he was, as the doctor said, very nearly lifeless. his breathing was labored and painful, his heart scarcely beat any longer. his eyes were closed. they had ceased to stare at her. how could she sever the little steel chain round his throat? he could not cry out or raise his hand to oppose her; she leaned over him and took hold of the key. she shrank in all her nerves from the horror of touching him, but she put a strong pressure on herself and tried to wrench the key from the ring on which it hung. he seemed insensible and unaware of what she was doing. but suddenly, as she succeeded in wrenching open the ring, breaking her shell-like fingernails in doing so, his eyelids were lifted and consciousness once more glared at her from his regard. she felt herself turn white with terror and disgust, but she did not loosen her hold and she pulled the key off the ring. his eyes cursed her, but his curse was impotent.
she hurried to the leather box, fitted the key in its lock, and opened it. she did not even look back at the bed. she was in haste lest the consul or someone else should come up the stairs. in the box there was nothing but papers. there were the diplomas of orders; there were certificates of marriage and birth; there were some old letters; and there was a large sealed packet addressed to vanderlin. there was nothing else. whatever it might once have held of value had been removed previously[536] by himself, and the stars of the orders had been pawned and lost.
she took out the packet addressed to vanderlin, laid the other documents in order, locked the box and returned to the bedside to put back the key on the chain.
then she saw a change which it was impossible to misread. he was dead. the cerebral excitement, caused by his recognition of her and of her endeavor to seize the key, had killed him. he was dead and could never bear witness against her. she fastened the little key on its ring, drew the sheet up over his breast, and with a shudder left the bedside. then she opened the bodice of her gown and put the packet against her corset; it was bulky, but when she put on her golfing-cloak it did not show.
when the german consul mounting the stairs opened the door of the chamber he saw a lady in black and grey, who kneeled by the side of the bed, the lamplight illumining the golden coils of her hair. he was greatly touched and impressed. she rose from her knees and addressed him with a sweet, sad gravity.
“my poor old friend expired but a moment ago,” she said softly. “i am so glad i came. he would otherwise have died in solitude. oh, how harsh and cruel is the world!”
then she gave him her name and address, said that she had known the dead man from her childhood, and had come to nurse him because she had understood that he was all alone.
the consul, a simple sturdy man of business, was deeply moved. when he had executed the few formalities necessary, and affixed his seal to the despatch-box, he begged this charming and compassionate stranger to allow him the honor of driving her back to her hotel.
“why was not his daughter with him?” she said to the consul. “oh, i know why—they have quarrelled; but it is such a sacred tie! surely——”
“the countess olga has always been most generous to her father, madame,” replied the gentleman. “but it was of no use. it was pouring money into sieve. i have telegraphed to her. she will probably come in person, but she cannot be here before another day at the least.”
[537]“how fortunate i had the start of her!” thought the ministering angel of this deathbed, as she watched the consul affix his seals to the old despatch-box, of which the only contents of any value were lying safe against the satin and lace of her stays. she would have infinitely preferred slipping away unseen from that sorry house, and finding her way as she could, on foot or by cab, back to her hotel unseen by anyone. but her mind quickly grasped all the points of a question, and she immediately perceived that her visit to be creditable must be unconcealed, and when the fascinated official offered to drive her back to her hotel, she accepted the offer, realizing all the solidity, veracity, and respectability which his countenance of her conferred. she left the woman of the house in charge of the dead body, and with an aureole of virtue round her head descended the stair which she had ascended on so questionable an errand.
