"Keep me informed," said the Prince, making a little bow, which signified that the audience was at an end.
Mudara, according to his own Confession, left the Embassy and proceeded at once to the small private hotel near Covent Garden where Parflete had taken up his abode.
Parflete's rooms, (_we read_) were en suite. He had bought a few rather beautiful prints and a number of exquisitely bound books. These last, with bowls and vases of flowers, were scattered over the various tables. The scent of the flowers mingled with the strange fumes of some Oriental incense. He had draped pieces of flame-coloured silk over the windows. Everything looked _bizarre_, and the atmosphere was sultry. When I entered he was not pleased to see me--in fact, he showed a disposition to sulk. I laboured to convince him that he would forfeit the respect of all honourable men unless he showed some just resentment at his wife's conduct.
"No one respects me as it is," he answered; "nobody cares what I do one way or the other so long as I avoid the police. And as the police and I have nothing at all in common, I am not likely to give offence to my good friends in the Alberian Government."
I warned him that such sneers were unjustifiable, and I reminded him, with severity, of the Government's extraordinary forbearance.
He fixed his eyes unpleasantly upon me, and his fingers trembled as he played with the frogs of his lilac-velvet smoking-jacket.
"I wish," said he, "that you would mind your own business. I have done everything to protect the appearance of your good faith all through this affair. Now leave me alone. Besides, I can't be sure that the lady we saw to-day was Her Imperial Highness."
My exasperation at his tone of defiance was all but uncontrollable.
"You know," said I, "that we had no doubt of her identity."
"We didn't see her face nor the colour of her hair. In any case, I refuse to humiliate her. Kindly remember that she is my wife, and drop a conversation which I find insulting."
Hot words then passed between us. In my anger I may have uttered several truths which hit him too hard. Suddenly he sprang at me as though he were a wild cat. His eyes rolled, his face was convulsed beyond recognition. Men I have never feared; he seemed, however, not a man but some demoniac risen from hell. In self-defence I struck him with the small poniard which I have carried all my life. He staggered back, and the blood-letting seemed to relieve his temper.