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 a.s.sures 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 l.u.s.t 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 pa.s.sed 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."