awaited me in the hall with dry slippers. She had a meal spread for me, and herself came to share it. Never had I seen her so tender or so gentle. I had a splendid hunger, and fell to, babbling of my skill with the gun between hearty mouthfuls.
"I wish Owen had been there," I said.
My mother nodded, but made no answer.
"Is the Prince gone?" I asked.
"No, he is here still. He stayed in case you should want to see him, Augustin."
"I don't want him," said I with a laugh, as I pushed my chair back. "But I was glad he talked like that about Owen last night. I think I'll go and see if Owen's in his room." I rose and started toward the door.
"Augustin, Mr. Owen is not in his room," said my mother in a strangely timid voice.
I turned with a start, for I was sensitive to every change of tone in her voice.
"Do you know where he is?" I asked.
"He is gone," said she.
I did not ask where, nor whether he would return. I sat down and looked at her; she came, smoothed my hair back from my forehead, and kissed me.
"I have not sent him away," she said. "I couldn't help it. The Prince was resolved, and he has power."
"But why?" burst from my lips.
"It is the Prince's doing, not mine," she reminded me. "The Prince is here, Augustin."
Why, yes, at least old Hammerfeldt would not run away.
My lips were quivering. I was nearer tears than pride had let me be for three years past, grief and
