Prince or Chauffeur? A Story of NewportPerry, Lawrence
General
Prince or Chauffeur? A Story of Newport
Perry, Lawrence
Newport (R.I.) -- Fiction
"Is it important--now?" asked Anne, and her friend tugged at her
sleeve. "I am very tired and sleepy."
"For a few moments, that is all," persisted the Prince gently. "Is it
too much?"
Sara, inwardly raging, detected the subtle appeal which this man, so
versed apparently in the emotions of womanhood, was making to the
inherent maternal, protective, sympathetic instincts of the girl, who,
now they were aroused, was smiling patiently.
"Very well, Prince Koltsoff. Don't bother to wait, Sara. Good-night."
"Such a day of weariness, Miss Wellington,", said the Prince, as he
followed Anne to a bench running along the foot of the staircase. "One
of my men,--calf-head,--was arrested in Boston."
"Arrested! Really! What had he been doing?"
"Nothing, I assure you, save trying to leave this bestial country. He
had been of service to me in Newport and elsewhere. I was worried. I
am worried. He was allowed to go. But they took valuable papers
concerning Austria from him. How can I get them? Am I undone?"
Koltsoff raised his eyes. "How can I say? Steinberg at Boston is in
Maine. And so--" Koltsoff tossed his hand in the air--"I have spent,"
he at last continued, "more than twenty thousand roubles on the matter.
I have spent five thousand roubles on the dumbhead, Yeasky, who has not
the brains or courage of a mouse. I am discouraged." He caught her
hand, pressed it to his forehead, and released it. "But I oppress you
with my diplomatic cares," he murmured. "It has been the first time I
ever burdened a woman with them. You--you are different, because you
are of the few gifted to bear, to solve them."
Anne made no reply.
"You hold safely that which I placed in your keeping?" he asked after a
pause.
His hand felt its way to hers, lying inert on the cushion, his fingers
closing softly upon it. She did not withdraw it, but lowered her head.
"Was it in connection with that your man was arrested in Boston?"
Koltsoff laughed.
"They thought to connect him with it. But--" he pressed Anne's
fingers, "the connecting link happened to be in your--jewelry safe."
Anne, thrilled at the part she was playing in the mysterious diplomatic
episode, laughed softly. Somehow it all appeared bigger even than
dodging under battleships' bows,--certainly more subtle. Koltsoff
gazed at her admiringly.
"My dear Miss Wellington," he said, "do you realize more and more, that
of which I spoke to-day--your fitness for the international sphere?
Your beauty--your coolness--the temper of your spirit--your ability to
sway strong men, as you have swayed me--do you appreciate all? Are you
proud that you have swayed me?"
"Prince Koltsoff!" Anne's voice rang with doubt and anguish and
yet--pride.
She was tired and spent with the day and as his arm stole, almost
snake-like, about her waist, she raised a nerveless hand, plucked
feebly to remove the fingers pressing into her side, and then let her
hand fall to the cushion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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