"Not so often as I would wish, my dear child, but my time is very fully occupied. As you can guess, these are troublous times. How is your dear mother?" Nada explained that the Princess was in bed with the first symptoms of a feverish cold. The General took a few sips of the cup of tea that the charming young Princess offered him. His bushy eyebrows worked from time to time. He was a perfect gentleman at heart; he was also very chivalrous to women. He did not at all relish the mission he was engaged on. It was the breaking of a butterfly upon a wheel, and the butterfly was the little girl to whom he used to bring chocolates and bon-bons a few years ago. "Sorry to hear it, my dear child. Keep her warm and she will soon be all right." Of course he was not really sorry at all that the Princess Zouroff was well out of the way; it was now all plain sailing. After a long pause, he spoke in gruff accents. "There is no need to fence, Nada. You got the message from your maid. You know why I have come and what I have come for." "Yes, I know," answered the young Princess in a faltering voice. The General drew his chair closer. "Now, out with it all. From whom did you get the information that prompted you to write that letter?" CHAPTER XVIII Zouroff had exulted very greatly on that night when he had said good-bye to Corsini at the doors of the Palace. The carriage was waiting a short distance away. In a few hours the young musician would cease to be a menace to him. He was doomed to grievous disappointment. One of the escaping band had managed to despatch a telegram in cipher acquainting him with the fact that his plans had miscarried, that Corsini had been rescued by the police at Pavlovsk. Upon receipt of that telegram, he went into one of his violent rages, but of course nobody witnessed his distress. After he had recovered himself, he sought out his valet and imparted to him the news. Later, in obedience to his master's instructions, the valet learned that Corsini was back at the Opera; further, that General Beilski had surrounded him with a strong bodyguard, which was to protect him, in an unobtrusive fashion, day and night. His suspicions fell at once on La Belle Quéro. If he had obeyed the promptings of his wild and savage nature, he would at once have gone to her dressing-room at the Opera, taxed her with her treachery, and strangled her with his own hands. Needless to say, he had no idea of the part played by his sister in the rescue of the hated musician. But he was wily as well as savage. He would take his own measures with this treacherous Spanish woman in due course. She certainly would not escape his vengeance; but he would do nothing rash, nothing calculated to bring his own neck into jeopardy. He would meet her as if nothing had happened. He would be more lover-like than ever. And things, as he thought, were now hastening so rapidly towards the goal that his revenge need not be long delayed.