"Yes. . . . Very pretty, your poems, very pretty. . . . Only, do you reckon upon being able to live on what they will bring you?"
"Certainly . . . sooner or later. . . ."
"Sooner or later? Later rather than sooner, I expect! And, meantime, you have come to ask me for the wherewithal to live?"
"For the wherewithal to buy food, sir."
Sernine put his hand on the young man's shoulder and, coldly:
"Poets do not need food, monsieur. They live on rhymes and dreams. Do as they do. That is better than begging for bread."
The young man quivered under the insult. He turned to the door without a word.
Sernine stopped him:
"One thing more, monsieur. Have you no resources of any kind?"
"None at all."
"And you are not reckoning on anything?"
"I have one hope left: I have written to one of my relations, imploring him to send me something. I shall have his answer to-day. It is my last chance."
"And, if you have no answer, you have doubtless made up your mind, this very evening, to . . ."
"Yes, sir."
This was said quite plainly and simply.
Sernine burst out laughing:
"Bless my soul, what a queer young man you are! And full of artless conviction, too! Come and see me again next year, will you? We will talk about all this . . . it's so curious, so interesting . . . and, above all, so funny! . . . Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
And, shaking with laughter, with affected bows and gestures, he showed him the door.
"Philippe," he said, admitting the hotel-servant, "did you hear?"
"Yes, governor."
"Gérard Baupré is expecting a telegram this afternoon, a promise of assistance. . . ."
"Yes, it's his last hope."
"He must not receive that telegram. If it comes, intercept it and tear it up."
"Very well, governor."
"Are you alone at your hotel?"
"Yes, with the cook, who does not sleep in. The boss is away."
"Good. So we are the masters. Till this evening, at eleven. Be off."
Prince Sernine went to his room and rang for his servant:
"My hat, gloves, and stick. Is the car there?"
"Yes, sir."
He dressed, went out, and sank into a large, comfortable limousine, which took him to the Bois de Boulogne, to the Marquis and Marquise de Gastyne's, where he was engaged for lunch.
At half-past two he took leave of his hosts, stopped in the Avenue Kléber, picked up two of his friends and a doctor, and at five minutes to three arrived at the Parc des Princes.
At three o'clock he fought a sword duel with the Italian Major Spinelli, cut his adversary's ear in the first bout, and, at a quarter to four, took a bank at the Rue Cambon Club, from which he retired, at twenty minutes past five, after winning forty-seven thousand francs.
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.