“Oh, you need not be alarmed. I know nothing,” was the answer. “But I am not a complete fool. I put two and two together at random. I only guess, as you know. I have guessed all my life. And as often as not I have guessed right, as you know. Ah! you think I am interfering in that which is not my business, and I do not care a snap of the finger what you think!”
And he illustrated this indifference with a gesture of his finger and thumb.
The prince laughed suddenly and boisterously.
“If I did not know that you had broken your heart—more than once—long ago,” he began. But Deulin interrupted him.
“Only once,” he put in, with a short, hard laugh.
“Well, only once, then. I should say that you had fallen in love with Wanda.”
“Ah!” said Deulin, lightly, “that is an old affair. That happened when she used to ride upon my shoulder. And one keeps a tenderness for one’s old loves, you know.”
“Well, and what do you propose to do? I tell you honestly I have had no time to think of my own affairs. I have had no courage to think of them, perhaps. I have been at work all night. Yes, yes! I know! Thin ice! You ought to know it when you see it. You have been on it all your life, and through it—”
“Only once,” repeated Deulin. “I propose what any other young lover would propose to do—to run away with her from Warsaw.”
“When?”
Deulin looked at his watch.
“In half an hour. Think of the risks, Bukaty—a young girl.”
And he saw a sudden fierceness in the old man’s eyes. The point was gained.
“I could take her to Krakow this evening. Your sister there will take her in.”
“Yes, yes! But will Wanda go?”
“If you tell her to go she will. I think that is the only power on earth that can make her do it.”
The prince smiled.
“You seem to know her failings. You are no lover, my friend.”
“That is a question in which we are both beyond our depth. You will do this thing for me. I come back in half an hour.”
“What about the passport, and the difficulties of getting away from Warsaw today?” asked the prince. “What we know others must know now.”
“Leave those matters to me. You can safely do so. Please do not move. I will find my way to the door, thank you.”
“If you see Wanda as you go,” called out the prince, as Deulin closed the door behind him, “send her to me.”
Deulin did see Wanda. He had always intended to do so. He went to the drawing-room and there found her, busy over some household books. He held out beneath her eyes the telegram he had received that morning.
“A telegram,” she said, looking at it. “But I cannot make out its meaning. I never saw or heard of that word before.”
“Nevertheless the news it contains will stir the blood of men till the end of time,” answered Deulin, lightly. “It is from a reliable source. Cartoner sent it. Upon that news your father is basing that which he wishes to say to you in his study now.”
“Ah!” said Wanda, with a ring of anxiety in her voice.
“It is nothing!” put in Deulin, quickly, at the sight of her face. “Nothing that need disturb your thoughts or mine. It is only a question of empires and kingdoms.”
With his light laugh, he turned away from her, and was gone before she could ask him a question.
In half an hour he returned. He had a cab waiting at the door, and the passport difficulty had been overcome, he said.
“The man in the street,” he added, turning to the prince, sitting beside Wanda, who stood before the study fire in her furs, ready to go—“the man in the street and the innumerable persons who carry swords in this city know nothing.”
“They will know at the frontier,” answered the prince, “and it is there that you will have difficulties.”
“Then it is there that we shall overcome them,” he replied, gayly. “It is there also, I hope, that we shall dine. For I have had no lunch. No matter; I lunched yesterday. I shall eat things in the train, and Wanda will hate me. I always hate other people’s crumbs, while for my own I have a certain tenderness. Yes. Now let us say goodbye and be gone.”
For Paul Deulin’s gayety always rose to the emergency of the moment. He came of a stock that had made jests on the guillotine steps. He was suddenly pressed for time, and had scarcely a moment in which to bid his old friend goodbye, and no leisure to make those farewell speeches which are nearly always better left unsaid.
“I must ask you,” he said to Wanda, when they were in the cab, “to drive round by the Europe, and keep you waiting a few moments while I run upstairs and put together my belongings. I shall give up my room. I may not come back. One never knows.”
And he looked curiously out of the cab window into the street that had run with blood twice within his own recollection. He peered into the faces of the passersby as into the faces of men who were today, and tomorrow would be as the seed of grass.
In the Krakow Faubourg all seemed to be as usual. Some were going about their business without haste or enthusiasm, as the conquered races always seem to do, while others appeared to have no business at all beyond a passing interest in the shopwindows and a leisurely sense of enjoyment in the sunshine. The quieter thoroughfares were quieter than usual, Deulin thought. But he made no comment, and Wanda seemed to be fully occupied with her own thoughts. The long expected, when it comes at last, is really more surprising than the unexpected itself.
It was the luncheon hour at the Hôtel de l’Europe, but the entrance hall was less
