Part 26 (1/2)

The two men named rose up silently. The Prince pointed to a small round table at the farther end of the apartment, half screened off by a curtained recess.

”Am I also,” Mr. Sabin asked, ”of your company?”

The Prince shook his head.

”I think not,” he said. ”In a few moments we will return.”

Mr. Sabin moved away with a slight enigmatic gesture. Lucille gathered up her skirts, making room for him by her side on a small sofa.

”It is delightful to see you, Victor,” she murmured. ”It is delightful to know that you trusted me.”

Mr. Sabin looked at her, and the smile which no other woman had ever seen softened for a moment his face.

”Dear Lucille,” he murmured, ”how could you ever doubt it? There was a day, I admit, when the sun stood still, when, if I had felt inclined to turn to light literature, I should have read aloud the Book of Job. But afterwards--well, you see that I am here.”

She laughed.

”I knew that you would come,” she said, ”and yet I knew that it would be a struggle between you and them. For--the Prince--” she murmured, lowering her voice, ”had pledged his word to keep us apart.”

Mr. Sabin raised his head, and his eyes traveled towards the figure of the man who sat with his back to them in the far distant corner of the room.

”The Prince,” he said softly, ”is faithful to his ancient enmities.”

Lucille's face was troubled. She turned to her companion with a little grimace.

”He would have me believe,” she murmured, ”that he is faithful to other things besides his enmities.”

Mr. Sabin smiled.

”I am not jealous,” he said softly, ”of the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer!”

As though attracted by the mention of his name, which must, however, have been unheard by him, the Prince at that moment turned round and looked for a moment towards them. He shot a quick glance at Lady Carey.

Almost at once she rose from her chair and came across to them.

”The Prince's watch-dog,” Lucille murmured. ”Hateful woman! She is bound hand and foot to him, and yet--”

Her eyes met his, and he laughed.

”Really,” he said, ”you and I in our old age might be hero and heroine of a little romance--the undesiring objects of a hopeless affection!”

Lady Carey sank into a low chair by their side. ”You two,” she said, with a slow, malicious smile, ”are a pattern to this wicked world. Don't you know that such fidelity is positively sinful, and after three years in such a country too?”

”It is the approach of senility,” Mr. Sabin answered her. ”I am an old man, Lady Muriel!”

She shrugged her shoulders.

”You are like Ulysses,” she said. ”The G.o.ds, or rather the G.o.ddesses, have helped you towards immortality.”

”It is,” Mr. Sabin answered, ”the most delicious piece of flattery I have ever heard.”