And all this without hurrying, with a sort of haughty indifference, as though the feverish activity that sent his life whizzing through a whirl of tempestuous deeds and events were the ordinary rule of his most peaceful days.
“Octave,” he said to his chauffeur, “go to Garches.”
And at ten minutes to six he alighted outside the old walls of the Parc de Villeneuve.
Although broken up nowadays and spoilt, the Villeneuve estate still retains something of the splendor which it knew at the time when the Empress Eugénie used to stay there. With its old trees, its lake and the leafy horizon of the woods of Saint-Cloud, the landscape has a certain melancholy grace.
An important part of the estate was made over to the Pasteur Institute. A smaller portion, separated from the other by the whole extent of the space reserved for the public, forms a property contained within the walls which is still fairly large, and which comprises the House of Retreat, with four isolated garden-houses standing around it.
“That is where Mrs. Kesselbach lives,” said the prince to himself, catching sight of the roofs of the house and the four garden-houses in the distance.
He crossed the park and walked toward the lake.
Suddenly he stopped behind a clump of trees. He had seen two ladies against the parapet of the bridge that crossed the lake:
“Varnier and his men must be somewhere near. But, by Jove, they are keeping jolly well hidden! I can’t see them anywhere. …”
The two ladies were now strolling across the lawns, under the tall, venerable trees. The blue of the sky appeared between the branches, which swayed in the peaceful breeze, and the scent of spring and of young vegetation was wafted through the air.
On the grassy slopes that ran down to the motionless water, daisies, violets, daffodils, lilies of the valley, all the little flowers of April and May stood grouped, and, here and there, formed constellations of every color. The sun was sinking on the horizon.
And, all at once, three men started from a thicket of bushes and made for the two ladies.
They accosted them. A few words were exchanged. The ladies gave visible signs of dread. One of the men went up to the shorter of the two and tried to snatch the gold purse which she was carrying in her hand. They cried out; and the three men flung themselves upon them.
“Now or never!” said the prince.
And he rushed forward. In ten seconds he had almost reached the brink of the water. At his approach, the three men fled.
“Run away, you vagabonds,” he chuckled; “run for all you are worth! Here’s the rescuer coming!”
And he set out in pursuit of them. But one of the ladies entreated him:
“Oh, sir, I beg of you … my friend is ill.”
The shorter lady had fallen on the grass in a dead faint.
He retraced his steps and, anxiously:
“She is not wounded?” he asked. “Did those scoundrels …”
“No … no … it’s only the fright … the excitement. … Besides you will understand … the lady is Mrs. Kesselbach. …”
“Oh!” he said.
He produced a bottle of smelling-salts, which the younger woman at once applied to her friend’s nostrils. And he added:
“Lift the amethyst that serves as a stopper. … You will see a little box containing some tabloids. Give madame one of them … one, no more … they are very strong. …”
He watched the young woman helping her friend. She was fair-haired, very simply dressed; and her face was gentle and grave, with a smile that lit up her features even when she was not smiling.
“That is Geneviève,” he thought. And he repeated with emotion, “Geneviève … Geneviève. …”
Meanwhile, Mrs. Kesselbach gradually recovered consciousness. She was astonished at first, seemed not to understand. Then, her memory returning, she thanked her deliverer with a movement of the head.
He made a deep bow and said:
“Allow me to introduce myself. … I am Prince Sernine. …”
She said, in a faint voice:
“I do not know how to express my gratitude.”
“By not expressing it at all, madame. You must thank chance, the chance that turned my steps in this direction. May I offer you my arm?”
A few minutes later, Mrs. Kesselbach rang at the door of the House of Retreat and said to the prince:
“I will ask one more service of you, monsieur. Do not speak of this assault.”
“And yet, madame, it would be the only way of finding out …”
“Any attempt to find out would mean an inquiry; and that would involve more noise and fuss about me, examinations, fatigue; and I am worn out as it is.”
The prince did not insist. Bowing to her, he asked:
“Will you allow me to call and ask how you are?”
“Oh, certainly. …”
She kissed Geneviève and went indoors.
Meantime, night was beginning to fall. Sernine would not let Geneviève return alone. But they had hardly entered the path, when a figure, standing out against the shadow, hastened toward them.
“Grandmother!” cried Geneviève.
She threw herself into the arms of an old woman, who covered her with kisses:
“Oh, my darling, my darling, what has happened? How late you are! … And you are always so punctual!”
Geneviève introduced the prince:
“Prince Sernine … Mme. Ernemont, my grandmother. …”
Then she related the incident, and Mme. Ernemont repeated:
“Oh, my darling, how frightened you must have been! … I shall never forget your kindness, monsieur, I assure you. … But how frightened you must have been, my poor darling!”
“Come, granny, calm yourself, as I am here. …”
“Yes, but the fright may have done you harm. … One never knows the consequences. … Oh, it’s horrible! …”
They went along a hedge, through which a yard planted with trees, a few shrubs, a playground and a white house were just visible. Behind the house, sheltered by a clump of elder-trees arranged to form a covered walk, was a little gate.
The old lady asked Prince Sernine to come in and led the way to a little drawing-room or parlor. Geneviève asked leave to withdraw for a
