Zouroff shook his fist at the retreating carriage. He looked, and
felt, like a demon. Why had this fool taken this particular moment to
go off his head? He knew that Stepan had suffered from a weak
intellect for many years, but he was not prepared for this sudden
ebullition of insanity.
"We cannot catch him up, your Excellency, he has driven like the
wind," remarked one of the two burly men who were in attendance on the
Prince.
"Let him drive to the devil," snarled Zouroff, in his most vicious
tone. He was really trying to mask his alarm under an assumption of
indifference. "What harm can the idiot do? He cannot hear, he can only
make guttural, and unintelligible sounds when he attempts to speak."
"He can write, your Excellency. Do not forget that. Say that at the
moment he has gone crazy. That carriage will halt somewhere in St.
Petersburg, or the environs, the police will be on the spot, inquiries
will be made. If he cannot speak, they will make him write."
But Zouroff by now had recovered his incurable optimism. "He will
recover his senses shortly and drive back to the Palace for
instructions. We will wait up for him."
The two men were not quite so convinced, although they did not dare
openly to dispute their employer's opinion. They were not quite sure
of Stepan's sudden attack of insanity. There was more in this than met
the eye.
Corsini, intensely agitated by the novelty of the unexpected
situation, drove recklessly for the first few moments, anxious to put
as much space as possible between Zouroff and himself, striving to
collect his thoughts.
As he had sat silent by the side of the Prince on their progress from
the villa to the Palace, he had thought well over the only plan of
campaign that seemed open to him. At the first stopping-place on that
long journey to the gloomy Castle of Tchernoff, he would alight, go to
the nearest police station and divulge the facts of the Princess's
abduction.
Well, fate had ruled it otherwise. The unconscious girl and her maid
were still in St. Petersburg and under his charge. Whither should he
convey them? But he must be quick. Zouroff was a man of resource. He
might have hired a passing conveyance and, accompanied by his two
burly satellites, be rapidly on his track.
And then the thought came swiftly to him. He would turn the carriage
round and drive by devious ways to the house of Golitzine. Once in the
Count's care, his precious charge would be safe. And, if he took that
devious route, there would be no chance of encountering the formidable
Zouroff on the way.
He halted at the door of the Count's house; but here an unexpected
difficulty awaited him. He dare not leave his horses, high-mettled and
but slightly blown by their short gallop. Ah, there was a convenient
lamp-post, a couple of feet in front of him. He would dismount and tie
his reins round it while he knocked at the door.
While he was engaged in this task, a carriage drove up out of the
dark, as it were, and halted beside the other one. A cold sweat broke
out over the young man as he observed its arrival. This devil of a
Zouroff had been too quick for him.
Then his countenance cleared as he recognised the first man who
stepped out. It was the leader of his faithful bodyguard. He had, in
the excitement of passing events, forgotten them.
"You have lost sight of us, Signor, but, you see, we have not lost
sight of you," said the chief of the party. "We followed you to that
mean street where your friend lodged, we saw you come out transformed
in appearance, we followed you to the villa of Madame Quero, we drove
behind you and Prince Zouroff to the Palace, we saw what happened
there, and we came after you at lightning speed. Now, how can we help
you? There is some strange work going on, that is easy to see. This is
the house of Count Golitzine, you want to see him. But I expect they
are all gone to bed."
"Yes, my friend, so much has happened in the last hour or two that I
had forgotten you," was Corsini's answer. "Tell one of the men to
knock at the door till it is opened. If the Count has gone to bed, he
must get up. And you and the others guard that carriage and look out
for Prince Zouroff."
The house seemed wrapped in darkness, and in fact everybody had
retired to rest except the energetic Count himself. Five nights out of
six he worked into the morning hours. To-night he had a special reason
for sitting up late. At any moment he might expect a visit from the
young Italian, to report the results of the meeting at the Villa
Quero.
He peered into the darkness and his astonished gaze rested on more
than he expected to see. He was prepared to see Corsini, to observe
the bodyguard lurking in the background; but the carriage and two
impatient horses champing at their bits was more than he had bargained
for.
"In Heaven's name, what is this, Corsini?"
Nello advanced and whispered in his ear. "I dare say these men suspect
as much as I know, but for the present we need not assume it. Inside
that carriage are two helpless women, drugged by that ruffian Zouroff,
the Princess Nada and her maid. I will tell you all the details of the
adventure later. Enough to say that I have been able to rescue them
from his clutches and drive them to your house. You will not refuse
them shelter?"
"Of course not," replied the Count at once. "Bring them in and I will
at once arouse the Countess. Drugged, you say! Send round one of the
fellows for the nearest doctor: he is the same man who succoured you
at Pavlovsk. Stay, I will give the address myself."
The two helpless forms were carried in. The Countess Golitzine was
aroused. The doctor arrived. It was some time before he could bring
them round. Zouroff and his satellites were evidently acquainted with
the secret of a very powerful narcotic. He came down at length to the
Count in his study, where he found Corsini.
"Good-evening, Signor. Well, Count, I have brought them back to
consciousness, have prescribed a little light food. They were very
heavily drugged."
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?"
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 Quero, 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.
"Nada is quite conscious and her faculties are coming back rapidly,"
she told her husband; "but she is terribly anxious to know all that
has happened since she was drugged. She wishes to see you. Of course,
I can tell her nothing, as I have not had time to hear anything from
you."
"She is not too excited?" questioned the Count.
"Only from anxiety to know. She will grow very excited if she is kept
much longer in suspense."
The Count beckoned to Corsini. "Let us go to her. You can explain
better than I."
But Corsini shrank back and a hot blush showed through the dark stain
that had been rubbed on his face in the mean lodging of Ivan the
outlaw.
"I cannot present myself in these miserable clothes, disguised as I
am, to the Princess," he stammered.
The Count smiled his quiet rather cynical smile. "I will wager she
will penetrate with the first glance through the disguise and the
shabby clothes."
He turned to his wife. "My dear, permit me to re-introduce to you
Signor Corsini, the Director of the Italian Opera. He doesn't cut
quite such a brilliant figure as usual, but his excuse is that he has
been doing some very good work for the Emperor."
The Countess, a woman of charming manners, advanced to him with
outstretched hands. "A thousand pardons. Please forgive my obtuseness,
but my thoughts were so occupied with our poor dear Nada." So adroitly
did she redeem a somewhat awkward situation.
The three went up to the chamber whither the young Princess had been
conveyed. The Count went to the bed and shook her warmly by the hand.
"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."
The Princess's wondering eyes grew bigger. "But tell me all that has
happened. I am dying with curiosity."
Golitzine touched his wife on the shoulder. "We are _de trop_, my
dear, let us leave the young people together."
The Countess was a very obedient wife. She accompanied her husband out
of the room; but when they were outside she whispered to him: "Alexis,
is it wise? Nada is a girl of high birth but of romantic notions.
Corsini is, no doubt, very talented, but is it prudent to leave them
together?"
"Listen to me; I am going to impart to you a little secret," said the
Count in a low voice. "To-morrow the house of Zouroff will be humbled
in the dust. Our pretty little Nada can then well choose where her
heart leads her to make her choice, even if it is in the direction of
our young friend, Nello Corsini."
"I think I understand," said the Countess.
In the big chamber, Katerina, recovering more slowly than her
mistress, was reclining on the sofa. A tall, white-capped nurse stood
in the corner.
Nada, of course, paid no heed to servants. They were a part of her
being, to be ignored at will. For all practical purposes she and
Corsini were alone.
"And so it is you who were my preserver," she said softly; "you in
this rough garb, with your face and hands stained to a peasant's hue.
There must have been some motive behind such a dangerous adventure."
Corsini bent over her, over the lily-white face, still looking wan
after her terrible experience.
"It was Providence that led me to your aid to-night, Princess. You
remember my urgent advice to leave the Palace at once."
"I know I was blind and foolish," murmured the Princess. "I could not
believe my brother capable of such cruelty."
"Your brother is capable of anything, of everything," said Corsini.
"Listen! I will tell you all that has happened to-night. Please
understand that Count Golitzine has got him in the hollow of his
hand."
In a few brief words, he recounted all that he had overheard at the
villa of Madame Quero, Zouroff's confession that for his own purposes
he had removed the beautiful singer.
"To-morrow, or the day after, he will be on his way to Siberia,"
concluded Corsini, with a pardonable exultation. "He doomed me to
death because he found me in his way; he has murdered his old
sweetheart from the sheer lust of revenge. You, out of that same
spirit of vengeance, he would have condemned to a long exile. I
trust, Princess, you will not mourn over the well-deserved fate of
such a worthless brother."
"No," she said in a resolute voice, "I will not mourn over him. His
outrage on me quenches the last spark of affection I ever entertained
for him."
The conversation was concluded. Corsini rose, and yet he still
lingered. Something alluring in the sweet face of the Princess still
drew him. But could he dare? There was a softness in her gaze,
something inviting in her demeanour.
Youth was calling to youth. Suddenly he leaned over and pressed his
lips on hers. They were met by an answering pressure.
"I love you, I love you, oh, I cannot tell you how much," he murmured
brokenly. "I have loved you ever since the night when you passed me in
Dean Street and wanted to throw me coppers when I was playing in the
gutter, and your imperious brother forbade you. I have loved you ever
since that moment."
And Nada murmured softly, "I love you, too. I cannot date it back to
that night. I think it was when you came to play for us at the
Embassy, in London. But it does not matter, dear Nello. We have both
saved each other."
"Yes, we have saved each other," was Corsini's answer. He left the
white-capped nurse in the corner, the still tearful Katerina. What did
he reck of these? Had not his beautiful Princess avowed her love with
that warm kiss on his lips? What did anything else in the world
matter?
Golitzine met him with his humorous smile. "Well, I have no doubt you
have made good use of your time with the Princess. Now or never was
your opportunity. To-morrow morning, in the Emperor's cabinet, at the
Winter Palace!"
Corsini left the Count's house. He certainly would not forget that
appointment to-morrow morning at the Winter Palace.
But although he had many things to remember, his most vital
recollection was the answering kiss of Nada.