She made no reply, not wishing to reflect, her head filled with her stubborn fixed idea to see the prince, to insist on seeing him. And, suddenly, turning to him: "Very well, if you don't care to do anything for me, you needn't think I shall help you in _any_ way." Her nervous, angry voice sounded louder than her first whispered words: the two girls heard her. "Alexa," he besought her, gently. "No, no," she resisted, curtly. He thought of his debts and of Eleonore: "I'll try," he whispered, in despair. She promptly rewarded him with a smile; he went, hurried away again, with his eternal air of fussy importance, because of his young imperial master, who was so sadly ill. In the anteroom he found the chamberlain on duty: "Would the prince be willing to see me?" The chamberlain shrugged his shoulders: "I'll ask," he said. He speedily returned: the prince had sent word that Dutri could come in. Dutri entered. Othomar lay on a couch covered with tiger-skins, in front of his writing-table. He had grown thinner; his eyes were hollow, his complexion was wan; his neck protruded frail and wasted from the loose turn-down collar of his silk shirt, over which he wore a velvet jacket. In his hand he held an open book. Djalo, the collie, lay on the floor. Dutri the voluble began to press his request in rapid sentences following close upon one another's heels.... "The duchess?" repeated Othomar, faintly. "No, no...." Dutri galloped on, simulated melancholy, employed words of gentle, insinuating sadness. Othomar's face assumed an expression which was strange to it and quite new: it was as though the melancholy of his features were crystallizing into a stubborn obstinacy, a silent doggedness. "No," he said once more, while his voice, too, sounded dogged and obstinate. "Make my apologies to the duchess, Dutri. And where ... where would she wish to see me?" "I did not fail to point out this difficulty to her excellency; but perhaps, if your highness would be so gracious ... one might nevertheless...." Othomar closed his eyes and threw his head back; his hand fell loosely upon the collie's head. He made no further reply and his lips were tightly compressed. Dutri still hesitated: what could he do, what should he tell Alexa?... But the door opened and the empress entered. The drawing-room was over; she had put off her robes and the crown, but she still wore her stiff, heavy dress of silver brocade. She looked coldly at Dutri and bowed her head slightly, as a sign for him to go: the equerry beat a confused retreat, without his usual tact. Othomar half-rose from his couch: "Mamma!..." She sat down beside him, stroked his forehead with her hand: "How do you feel?" He smiled and blinked with his eyes, without replying. "What was Dutri doing here?" "He wanted ... Oh, mamma, never mind, don't ask me!... How beautiful you look! May I, too, kiss your hand?"