She was a pretty woman, not tall, rather below middle stature,
perhaps, beautifully proportioned and perfectly gowned. Hair and eyes
were dark as velvet; her skin was old ivory and rose; and always her
lips seemed about to part a little in the faint and provocative smile
which lay latent in the depths of her brown eyes.
"Mon Dieu!" she said, "what a history of woe you are telling me, my
friend James! What a tale of innocence and of deception and outraged
trust is this that you relate to me! Allons! Vite! Let us find this
poor, abandoned infant--this unhappy victim of your sex's well-known
duplicity!"
"She isn't a victim, you know," he explained.
"I see. Only almost--a--victim. Yes? Where is this child, then?"
"May I bring her to you, Princess?"
"But of course! Bring her. I am not afraid--so far--to look any woman
in the face at five o'clock in the morning." And the threatened smile
flashed out in her fresh, pretty face.
* * * * *
When he came back with Rue Carew, the Princess Mistchenka was
conferring with her maid and with her stewardess. She turned to look
at Rue as Neeland came up--continued to scrutinise her intently while
he was presenting her.
There ensued a brief silence; the Princess glanced at Neeland, then
her dark eyes returned directly to the young girl before her, and she
held out her hand, smilingly: "Miss Carew--I believe I know exactly what your voice is going to be
like. I think I have heard, in America, such a voice once or twice.
Speak to me and prove me right."
Rue flushed: "What am I to say?" she asked naïvely.
"I knew I was right," exclaimed the Princess Mistchenka gaily. "Come
into my stateroom and let each one of us discover how agreeable is the
other. Shall we--my dear child?"
* * * * *
When Neeland returned from a visit to the purser with a pocket full of
British and French gold and silver for Ruhannah, he knocked at the
stateroom door of the Princess Mistchenka.
That lively personage opened it, came out into the corridor holding
the door partly closed behind her.
"She's almost dead with fatigue and grief. I undressed her myself.
She's in my bed. She has been crying."
"Poor little thing," said Neeland.
"Yes."
"Here's her money," he said, a little awkwardly.
The Princess opened her wrist bag and he dumped in the shining
torrent.
"Shall I--call good-bye to her?" he asked.