Come, cheer up, sit down again; your mammy shan't know. There now, this is much more comfortable," she added, for Volenski, on whom the importance of the present situation flashed again in an instant, had offered his feelings as holocaust on the altar of the great cause, and resumed his seat beside the donna–with an arm round her antiquated waist. She placed her yellow head languishingly on his shoulder.
"Do you know, little booby, that, as a rule, I don't much care for young gentlemen like yourself?"
"No?" he asked indifferently.
"Well, you see," she said, with a pout, "it is difficult to get any fun out of them; they are so mortally afraid of being seen in our company that they won't take us anywhere."
Iván could not help smiling to himself at the idea of taking this beauty–say, to the opera–and meeting his Eminence on the way, and did not wonder that Grete was not very often taken to the theatre by "young gentlemen" like himself.
"Who are the people you like best then, Grete?" he asked, in order to keep up the conversation.
"Oh! I have many friends–real friends," she said. "But that's a fine ring you are wearing, booby!"
Volenski felt at this moment that it was of the most vital importance that he should hear something of Grete's real friends; he must get her to tell him about them; surely the accomplice, the one who was arrested at Oderberg, was one, and, who knows, another might at this moment be actually in possession of the fateful candlesticks!
Taking the ring off his finger, he slipped it into Grete's hand, and said with an effort at cordiality:
"Pray accept it; it will adorn your pretty hand. But do tell me some more about your friends–the real friends that were not young gentlemen?"
"One of them was an actor, and earned quite a lot of money–he used to play all kinds of parts–and, Lord! sometimes now, he makes me laugh with the clever way in which he can disguise his handsome features. Never mind, my pretty one," she added coaxingly, "you have got a nice little face of your own too, and –– "
"Never mind about my face; tell me about his."
"Now you are angry," she said, with a pout. "I shan't talk any more about him, though he is a clever chap! I could tell you one or two of his tricks. But there, that's nothing to do with you."
Volenski felt the conversation was becoming interesting. He swallowed the last vestige of repulsion he felt for this coarse, now decidedly intoxicated, woman, and pouring her out a large tumblerful of champagne, "Drink this, my girl," he said, "and tell me some of your friend's tricks. I should like to hear something that will make me laugh."
She drank the champagne and said nothing for a few moments, then burst into a loud laugh.
"Ah! but I did the best trick of all to-day; I tricked them all, every one of them; they thought themselves mighty clever, they did, but Grete Ottlinger was one too many for them. Booby, don't look so scared; give me another glass of champagne, and I'll tell you all about it. Another glass, booby; fill it to the top. I don't often get champagne; men mostly only give me beer or spirits. You see, I am not so young as I was. But champagne–I love champagne –– "
She was getting very tipsy and very noisy. Volenski, no less excited than herself, tossed down a couple of glasses. He felt nothing, he was conscious of nothing, except that in five minutes he would know his fate, and that this woman held it in her hands.
"Oh! it was funny," she laughed again; "I knew they were after me. I am no fool. They let me come back to Vienna; they meant to search my rooms while I was out; they thought I wouldn't know.
"Booby," she whispered, "old Moses Grünebaum was waiting at the station for me. He had the things already in his shop, while the crew were following me round the town and turning out my rooms; and they will find nothing. Ha! ha! ha! what a lark, booby! Eh, booby? What's the matter with you? Here! I say, booby, what on earth are you after?"
For Volenski was fumbling for his hat, his gloves, his coat, and, tossing a hundred guldens to the woman, he had fled from the hotel, past the astonished waiters into the streets, leaving Grete to pay for the supper, and still muttering to herself: "Booby–well I never! Gott in Himmel! Ach, Herr Je!"
Chapter XII
How Iván ever reached home that night, without being arrested by the police on suspicion of being drunk, he never afterwards could say. He remembered nothing after the time when, out of Grete Ottlinger's confused babble, he had gleaned the name of Grünebaum–the name that to him at last meant absolute salvation. He knew the shop well on the Opernring, kept by old Moses Grünebaum, and containing a wonderful collection of antique jewellery, furniture, and curios of all kinds–a shop much frequented by connoisseurs, the most thought of in Vienna, in fact, for that class of things, certainly not one that would ever fall under suspicion of harbouring stolen goods.
It was obviously too late to interview old Moses at that hour of the night. Iván, though hardly alive to any outward facts, save the all-absorbing one, was nevertheless conscious of that, and instinct guided his reeling footsteps to the hotel on the Kolowrátring.
A mass of letters awaited him; correspondence he was sadly neglecting in these days of anxiety. One of them was from his Eminence. Iván tore it open in eager excitement. It ran as follows:
Klinger's Hotel, Marienbad,
28th February.
"My dear Son,–You will see by the above address that I have altered my plans and am staying here for the present. The fresh mountain air is having a most beneficial effect upon my health, and I shall probably stay (D.V.) the full length of my intended holiday. I hope you are getting on satisfactorily with the work fast enough to enable you to take some days' rest before we once more meet at St. Petersburg for diplomatic business. By the way, if you should happen to get there before I do, I think it would be as well if you would call on Madame Demidoff, and ask her to hand you over the Emperor's candlesticks, which then could remain in your charge. I hope she accomplished her journey in safety, and that not the slightest harm has come to those tiresome things, which very nearly succeeded in depriving me of my holiday. I assure you, my dear son, when I think of all the enjoyment I should have missed on their account, I am doubly grateful to madame for the kind favour she has done me.
"My apostolic blessing on you, my son, and sincere respect to Madame Demidoff when you see her.
"Antonius d'Orsay,
Cardinal-Archbishop."
Volenski put down the letter; a sigh of complete relief came from his heart. Thank Heaven! his Eminence knew nothing. It was not to be wondered at; the robbery at Oderberg had not created much comment in the press owing to the speedy capture of the thief, and it would have been nothing but the most adverse coincidence if his Eminence, who, to Iván's knowledge, never glanced at a newspaper, should that one day of all days have seen the two numbers that contained an account of the theft.
He knew from his own experience that the facts were not sufficiently mysterious to excite public interest, and as his Eminence's name had not once been mentioned by Madame Demidoff, it was not very likely that the Cardinal would hear of the matter from any outside source. Madame evidently did not mean that his Eminence should hear about her loss–that
