‘I have heard you,’ replied the other, ‘with great interest.’
‘With singular patience,’ said the prince politely.
‘Ay, your highness, and with unlooked-for sympathy,’ returned the young man. ‘I know not how to tell the change that has befallen me. You have, I must suppose, a charm, to which even your enemies are subject.’ He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and visibly blanched. ‘So late!’ he cried. ‘Your highness — God knows I am now speaking from the heart — before it be too late, leave this house!’
The prince glanced once more at his companion, and then very deliberately shook the ash from his cigar. ‘That is a strange remark,’ said he; ‘and a propos de bottes, I never continue a cigar when once the ash is fallen; the spell breaks, the soul of the flavour flies away, and there remains but the dead body of tobacco; and I make it a rule to throw away that husk and choose another.’ He suited the action to the words.
‘Do not trifle with my appeal,’ resumed the young man, in tones that trembled with emotion. ‘It is made at the price of my honour and to the peril of my life. Go — go now! lose not a moment; and if you have any kindness for a young man, miserably deceived indeed, but not devoid of better sentiments, look not behind you as you leave.’
‘Sir,’ said the prince, ‘I am here upon your honour; assure you upon mine that I shall continue to rely upon that safeguard. The coffee is ready; I must again trouble you, I fear.’ And with a courteous movement of the hand, he seemed to invite his companion to pour out the coffee.
The unhappy young man rose from his seat. ‘I appeal to you,’ he cried, ‘by every holy sentiment, in mercy to me, if not in pity to yourself, begone before it is too late.’
‘Sir,’ replied the prince, ‘I am not readily accessible to fear; and if there is one defect to which I must plead guilty, it is that of a curious disposition. You go the wrong way about to make me leave this house, in which I play the part of your entertainer; and, suffer me to add, young man, if any peril threaten us, it was of your contriving, not of mine.’
‘Alas, you do not know to what you condemn me,’ cried the other. ‘But I at least will have no hand in it.’ With these words he carried his hand to his pocket, hastily swallowed the contents of a phial, and, with the very act, reeled back and fell across his chair upon the floor. The prince left his place and came and stood above him, where he lay convulsed upon the carpet. ‘Poor moth!’ I heard his highness murmur. ‘Alas, poor moth! must we again inquire which is the more fatal — weakness or wickedness? And can a sympathy with ideas, surely not ignoble in themselves, conduct a man to this dishonourable death?’
By this time I had pushed the door open and walked into the room. ‘Your highness,’ said I, ‘this is no time for moralising; with a little promptness we may save this creature’s life; and as for the other, he need cause you no concern, for I have him safely under lock and key.’
The prince had turned about upon my entrance, and regarded me certainly with no alarm, but with a profundity of wonder which almost robbed me of my self-possession. ‘My dear madam,’ he cried at last, ‘and who the devil are you?’
I was already on the floor beside the dying man. I had, of course, no idea with what drug he had attempted his life, and I was forced to try him with a variety of antidotes. Here were both oil and vinegar, for the prince had done the young man the honour of compounding for him one of his celebrated salads; and of each of these I administered from a quarter to half a pint, with no apparent efficacy. I next plied him with the hot coffee, of which there may have been near upon a quart.
‘Have you no milk?’ I inquired.
‘I fear, madam, that milk has been omitted,’ returned the prince.
‘Salt, then,’ said I; ‘salt is a revulsive. Pass the salt.’
‘And possibly the mustard?’ asked his highness, as he offered me the contents of the various salt-cellars poured together on a plate.
‘Ah,’ cried I, ‘the thought is excellent! Mix me about half a pint of mustard, drinkably dilute.’
Whether it was the salt or the mustard, or the mere combination of so many subversive agents, as soon as the last had been poured over his throat, the young sufferer obtained relief.
‘There!’ I exclaimed, with natural triumph, ‘I have saved a life!’
‘And yet, madam,’ returned the prince, ‘your mercy may be cruelty disguised. Where the honour is lost, it is, at least, superfluous to prolong the life.’
‘If you had led a life as changeable as mine, your highness,’ I replied, ‘you would hold a very different opinion. For my part, and after whatever extremity of misfortune or disgrace, I should still count to-morrow worth a trial.’
‘You speak as a lady, madam,’ said the prince; ‘and for such you speak the truth. But to men there is permitted such a field of license, and the good behaviour asked of them is at once so easy and so little, that to fail in that is to fall beyond the reach of pardon. But will you suffer me to repeat a question, put to you at first, I am afraid, with some defect of courtesy; and to ask you once more, who you are and how I have the honour of your company?’
‘I am the proprietor of the house in which we stand,’ said I.
‘And still I am at fault,’ returned the prince.
But at that moment the timepiece on the mantel-shelf began to strike the hour of twelve; and the young man, raising himself upon one elbow, with an expression of despair and horror that I have never seen excelled, cried lamentably, ‘Midnight! oh, just God!’ We stood frozen to our places, while the tingling hammer of the timepiece measured the remaining strokes; nor had we yet stirred, so tragic had been the tones of the young man, when the various bells of London began in turn to declare the hour. The timepiece was inaudible beyond the walls of the chamber where we stood; but the second pulsation of Big Ben had scarcely throbbed into the night, before a sharp detonation rang about the house. The prince sprang for the door by which I had entered; but quick as he was, I yet contrived to intercept him.
‘Are you armed?’ I cried.
‘No, madam,’ replied he. ‘You remind me appositely; I will take the poker.’
‘The man below,’ said I, ‘has two revolvers. Would you confront him at such odds?’
He paused, as though staggered in his purpose.
‘And yet, madam,’ said he, ‘we cannot continue to remain in ignorance of what has passed.’
‘No!’ cried I. ‘And who proposes it? I am as curious as yourself, but let us rather send for the police; or, if your highness dreads a scandal, for some of your own servants.’
‘Nay, madam,’ he replied, smiling, ‘for so brave a lady, you surprise me. Would you have me, then, send others where I fear to go myself?’
‘You are perfectly right,’ said I, ‘and I was entirely wrong. Go, in God’s name, and I will hold the candle!’
Together, therefore, we descended to the lower story, he carrying the poker, I the light; and together we approached and opened the door of the butler’s pantry. In some sort, I believe, I
