He seemed relieved at the discovery. Truda was still staring at him,
in a cold passion of horror.

"My God!" she breathed; then turned from him with a shudder and knelt
beside the child. "Go back to the carriage! Wait!" she bade him, with
her back turned, and he was fain to obey her with his best speed.
There, ere his conventional torpor claimed him again, he could hear
her persuading and comforting the child in a voice of gentle murmurs,
and at last she returned, carrying the child in her arms, and bade
him drive on. As he went, the murmuring voice still sounded, gentle
and very caressing.

Truda paused to make no explanations at all when the hotel was
reached, but passed through the hall and up to her own rooms with the
frightened child in her arms. But what the coachman had to say, when
questioned, presently brought her manager knocking at her door. He
was hot and nervous, and Truda met him with the splendid hauteur she
could assume upon occasion to quell interference with her actions.
Behind her, upon a couch, the child was lying wrapped in a shawl,
looking on the pair of them and Truda's hovering maid with great
almond eyes set in a little smooth swarthy face.

"Madame, Madame!" cried M. Vaucher. "What is this I hear? How are we
to get on in Russia--in Russia of all places--if you go in the face
of public opinion like this?"

"I do not know," replied Truda very calmly. She took a chair beside
the child, leaving him standing, and put a long white hand on the
little tumbled head.