WITHOUT A MEMORY!
While Pauline repaired to the Princess’s chamber, the doctor went off to
Wilfrid’s room to acquaint him with the strange news.
Being new to mental phenomena of this sort, Wilfrid received the
announcement with every token of unbelief.
“Do you mean to say,” he asked in amazement, “that she cannot tell how
she came to be in the Neva?”
“Has no recollection whatever of the event. Her mind is a complete blank
as to her past: cannot recall the name of a friend or the name of any
place where she has dwelt.”
“In what mood is she. Sad?”
“Not at all. Smiles at her own perplexity—in fact, her loss of memory
seems rather to amuse her.”
“And how long is this state likely to last?”
Beauvais shrugged his shoulders.
“One cannot say. A week: a month: a year. Perhaps for the rest of her
life.”
“And you have no idea who she is?”
“Not in the least; nor has the Baroness. Am I justified in supposing from
your agitation last night that she is the lady that set you and the Czar
at feud?”
Wilfrid replied that such was the case.
“Ah! Then of course you give up all thoughts of this duel?”
“Honour calls me to it.”
“But the lady’s safety calls you from it. Now that, thanks to your
uncle, the name of the Czar’s opponent is known to Count Panine, your
appearance in St. Petersburg will be instantly followed by your arrest
and deportation to the frontier. In such case what help can you give the
lady, should her enemies discover that she is still alive? Her state
calls for a protector, and your past relations with her entitle you to
assume that rôle.”
This way of putting the case modified Wilfrid’s views, and—“Postponed
indefinitely,” became his decision on the question of the duel.
The Princess’s loss of memory filled Wilfrid with extreme disquietude.
When he last saw her she had been in a vein bordering upon love; this new
state of mind on her part would now cause her to be ignorant of his very
existence. He would have to begin his love-making all over again, and
might—fail!
He breakfasted with the doctor, who, the meal ended, paid another visit
to his patient, returning almost immediately with the good news that she
was strong enough to be up and dressed.
So, as soon as word came that the Princess’s toilet was completed,
Wilfrid sought her presence.
Attired in a dainty sarafan of soft muslin, supplied from Pauline’s
wardrobe, she was reclining in a deep _fauteuil_ with the Baroness by her
side.
Although she had occupied so large a space in his mind Wilfrid had seen
her but four times, and, by a singular coincidence, at night only. Her
beauty underwent no diminution by day; on the contrary it seemed to be
enhanced by the soft morning light. Her delicate pallor was the only
evidence of her recent grapple with death.
It was the same Marie, and yet different. The pensive melancholy hitherto
marking her aspect had vanished; a new and happier light glanced from
her eyes; the passing of her memory seemed to have brought with it the
passing of sorrow.
As Wilfrid recalled the bitter language which the Princess had applied
to Pauline, it was with a somewhat odd feeling that he now beheld the
two conversing with the familiarity of old friends. It was difficult
to believe that the sudden return of the Princess’s memory would be
accompanied by hostility to Pauline again.
A slight movement on his part caused the Princess to lift her head and
look at him.
It was with a sense of disappointment that Wilfrid met her calm, quiet
gaze. He had been fondly hoping that whomsoever else she might have
forgotten she could not have forgotten _him_. But alas! her dark blue
eyes betrayed no sign of recognition; their expression was simply one of
curiosity to know who he was. Her manner differed in nothing from that of
a woman meeting with a stranger, a manner that Wilfrid felt to be genuine
on her part, and not assumed.
“This is the Lord Courtenay of whom I have been speaking,” said Pauline.
Wilfrid bowed gravely. That he should need an introduction to her!
“I am sorry,” smiled the Princess, “at having to meet you in the present
circumstances. You must think me a very stupid person not to be able to
recall my name and history; yet so it is. Try as I will I cannot carry my
memory farther back than this morning. That I awoke a few hours ago in
a certain bedroom of this castle is all I know of myself. Unless I have
dropped ready-made from the skies I must have lived for twenty years and
more, and yet of this long time I can remember nothing! Is it not absurd?”
So absurd that she broke out into a laugh; and one more sweet and silvery
never rippled from woman’s lips, at least in Wilfrid’s opinion.
“The Baroness has been telling me that you can perhaps help to revive my
memory, as you have seen me amid other surroundings.”
“You have been known to me as the Princess Marie.”
“Yes, but on looking into the Court Register,” she answered, pointing to
a book at her feet, “we cannot discover that there is a Princess Marie.”
“Whose suggestion was the Court Register?” asked Beauvais, who had
accompanied Wilfrid to the presence of the Princess.
“Mine!” answered Marie.
The doctor tapped his forehead significantly at Wilfrid to intimate that,
however defective her power of remembering might be, that of reasoning
remained intact. Indeed, but for her own confession no one would ever
have supposed that any faculty of her mind lay dormant.
Princess Marie was now all eagerness to know on what occasions she and
Wilfrid had met, a request that put him in a somewhat embarrassing
situation. Was she to be told, for example, that he had once spent an
hour in her bedroom?—that she had kissed him at their last meeting? and
that she had always expressed enmity towards Pauline?
He looked at Pauline for guidance, who in turn looked at the doctor,
while the Princess herself looked from one to another, wondering why
there should be such hesitation in telling her a plain story.
“It will be as well,” said Beauvais, addressing Wilfrid, “to tell all
you know, while the Princess follows you in mind, striving to recall
the situations in which your story places her. Such effort will perhaps
stimulate her memory.”
So spoke the hypocrite, hoping that her efforts would do nothing of the
sort.
After a moment’s reflection Wilfrid proceeded to relate not all, but as
much as he thought needful, for the Princess to know; and it was with a
strange sensation of pleasure that he found her eyes fastened on him with
a wistful attention, that never once wavered during his recital. Leaving
out Baranoff and his infamous proposal Wilfrid began with the bedroom
incident; then went on to tell how he had been requested by her to paint
his now historic picture, saying nothing, however, as to the reward he
had demanded; and coming finally to the masquerade, he led Marie to
suppose that the meeting was merely a formal one on her part to thank
him for his services. As for the Czar and his presumed aim towards her,
Wilfrid suppressed this part of the story altogether.
“How long ago is it since this fête in the Sumaroff Gardens?” she asked.
“Only two nights ago.”
“Only two nights ago!” she repeated with breathless incredulity. “And I
have no recollection whatever of it!”
She closed her eyes, knitted her brows thoughtfully, pressed her
forefinger hard upon her forehead, evidently making a strong effort to
recall the past, but could not succeed.
She was silent for a few minutes, pondering her mental state, which
was not only inexplicable to her, but also to Beauvais, the student
of psychology. For, observe the contradictory nature of the case: her
struggle in the water had formed a dividing-line in her history; over
this dividing-line she was able to bring into her new life all, or most,
of the knowledge acquired in the old, and yet she was unable to bring
with it the knowledge of her own personality. Why her mind, able to
retain so much of the past, should become an absolute blank upon one
point—there was the mystery that humbled, nay, frightened her. Better for
her to lose, say, her knowledge of languages or of music, than to lose
the knowledge of herself. A gulf seemed to separate her from her three
companions; they could carry _their_ minds back to childhood’s days; for
her life began with that morning only. Her previous history lay hidden
behind a black curtain. A native from the planet Mars, new-dropped upon
the earth, could not have felt less at home than did Princess Marie at
that moment.
“What is this that has come upon me?” she murmured with fear in her
voice. “If I lose my memory, what is to prevent me from losing my reason?”
“Now you are distressing yourself unnecessarily,” said the doctor,
cheerily. “Why did I ply you this morning with so many questions upon
this, that and the other topic, but to ascertain whether there is any
ground for what you fear. And the result? My dear lady, if all the heads
in the Czar’s cabinet were half as sound as yours, Russia would be well
governed. Your mind is perfectly sane, have no fear upon that point. As
to your loss of memory—humph! I’ll call it a misfortune, to please you.
But there are many persons, Prince Ouvaroff for example, who would be
glad to obtain an oblivion as complete as yours. Patience, my good lady,
patience. Time will restore your memory.”
These optimistic remarks, and many more of the same sort from Beauvais,
combined with Pauline’s caresses, gradually brought the distressed
Princess to a calmer state.
“I am justly punished,” she said with a sad smile, addressing Wilfrid.
“I have so long kept my name a secret from you that it is now a secret
from myself. And you say I was found last night lying insensible upon the
shores of this island? How did I come there?”
Pauline and the doctor could both have answered this question more fully
than Wilfrid, but for reasons of their own they chose to be silent,
leaving him to tell as much as he knew of the matter. To his story Marie
listened with a troubled air.
“Have I enemies so malignant that they seek to murder me?”
“It would seem so,” replied Wilfrid, adding for her consolation, “but
since they must now look upon you as dead they will molest you no more.”
“It is not for me,” said Pauline, “to dictate your course of action, but
in view of the recent attempt upon your life, you will do well to remain
in hiding here, for a few days at least, until we learn what is best to
be done. In the meantime you must look upon the castle and the isle as
your own.”
A proposal that found a warm seconder in Wilfrid, who foresaw the
facilities it would afford him for pushing his suit with the Princess.
So it was settled that she should stay at Runö.
Now, although Marie’s companions were three in number, it was to Wilfrid
principally that her remarks were addressed, and Pauline and the doctor,
well pleased to have it so, presently withdrew to another part of the
room, and had a little _tête-à-tête_ on their own account.
“Our plan promises to work smoothly,” said Beauvais. “She favours him as
much in the new state as in the old.”
“Yes, but how long can we keep her here in concealment? She has now been
absent from the palace for more than a day. By this time the Czar’s
agents must be swarming everywhere on the look-out for her. Not a spot,
not a house, in and around St. Petersburg will remain unvisited.”
“We must keep them from visiting Runö,” said Beauvais.
“How can it be done?”
“Very easily. Will not Count Baranoff and his brother Loris, Chief of
the Secret Police, have the direction of this affair? And have we not in
our possession a letter containing matter enough to hang them ten times
over? We must go at once to St. Petersburg and make this compact with
them, that unless they are prepared to do our bidding we shall reveal
their guilt to the Czar. And our bidding is that they instruct their
subordinates to let this island alone. We need not shrink from stating
the reason. Has it not been Baranoff’s aim to make yonder pair fall in
love with each other? What are we doing but pursuing the same plan,
though for a different reason? Freed from the intrusion of police agents
Runö thus becomes a sacred asylum, an enchanted garden, in which our two
wards may make love to their hearts’ content without the knowledge of the
Court.”
“And the end of it all?”
“When her love is sufficiently strong she will be willing to fly with him
from Russia. Cronstadt harbour is distant by water but eighteen miles.
A swift boat and a dark night, and they are on board a vessel bound for
England.”
“But should we in the meantime be detected in our plot by Alexander——”
“What then? Will he be very much vexed when we are supplying him with the
pretext he wants?”
Pauline sighed.
“Ah me! If only I had told Lord Courtenay yesterday who his inamorata
is, it would have prevented me from beginning this course of deception.
Not till nightfall did it suddenly occur to me that knowledge of this
fact would have been the best way of making him cease from the duel; and
then from very pity I refrained from the telling, knowing what pain the
revelation would bring him, and now—now it is too late! What will he
think when he learns—as learn he must—how basely I am deceiving him?”
“Pooh! what matters what he thinks?”
“Much—to me,” she answered moodily.
At this point the pair found themselves appealed to by Wilfrid.
“Was there not a letter in the Princess’s dress-pocket?” he asked, giving
his reason for the question.
“I can of myself testify that there was not,” said the unabashed doctor,
“for I examined her clothing in the hope of finding some clue to her
identity. If it were the object of the four ruffians to get hold of a
compromising letter we can scarcely expect them to leave it upon her
person.”
A specious argument that answered the purpose intended.
The Princess here put to Wilfrid a very sensible suggestion.
“This Prince Ouvaroff, who as you say acted as my escort from some
unknown place to St. Petersburg, must surely know who I am. Is it not
possible to communicate with him?”
“You echo my thoughts,” said Pauline. “Dr. Beauvais and I will go to St.
Petersburg this very day for the purpose of seeing the Prince upon this
matter.”
This proposal on the part of Pauline was more acceptable to the Princess
than it was to Wilfrid.
“Supposing,” he whispered to Pauline, “that Ouvaroff suspects the motive
of your questioning, and springs to the conclusion that Princess Marie
must be at Runö?”
“Why, in that case,” whispered Pauline in turn, “she would be restored
to her old surroundings. But have no fear. I’ll approach the matter so
cautiously that he shall suspect nothing. I must not delay, however, lest
I be too late, for he told me at the masquerade that the Czar was about
to send him on a diplomatic mission to Berlin.”
So, accompanied by Beauvais, Pauline went the same day to St. Petersburg,
but made no attempt to see Prince Ouvaroff.
While the doctor was transacting some private business, Pauline
visited first the British Ambassador, and had an interview with him,
which terminated with these words on her part: “Never mind how he
was persuaded to give up the duel; you have my word for it that St.
Petersburg and the Czar will see him no more. _That_ surely ought to
content you.”
And it did, the Ambassador breathing a sigh of relief that the awkward
business was over.
The bureau of Loris Baranoff, Chief of the Secret Police, was the next
place to receive a call from her, and to judge by her smile as she
quitted his office the result of her mission was a complete success.