Part 6 (1/2)
”Well?” asked Paul, who was visibly agitated. ”What then?” he inquired rather sharply, seeing that Dr. Cutter was silent.
”To be short about it,” said the professor, ”it has been evident to me from that moment that her mind is deranged. No argument can affect the distorted view she takes.”
”But what is the view? What does she think?” inquired Paul, trembling with excitement.
”She thinks that you were the cause of your brother's death,” answered Cutter shortly.
”That I murdered him?” cried Paul, feeling that his worst fears were realized.
”Poor lady!” exclaimed the professor, fixing his gray eyes on Paul's face. ”It is of no use to go over the story. That is what she thinks.”
Paul turned from his companion, and leaned against a tree for support.
He was utterly overcome, and unmanned for the moment. Cutter stood beside him, fearing lest he might fall, for he could see that he was wasted with anxiety and weak with fatigue. But he possessed great strength of will and that command of himself which is acquired by living much among strangers. After a few seconds he stood erect, and, making a great effort, continued to walk upon the road, steadying himself with his stick.
”Go on, please,” he said. ”How did you come here?”
”You will understand that I could not leave Madame Patoff at such a time,” continued the professor, inwardly admiring the strength of his new acquaintance. ”She insisted upon returning northwards, saying that she would go to her relations in England. Fearing lest her mind should become more deranged, I suggested traveling slowly by an unfrequented route. I intended to take her to England by short stages, endeavoring to avoid all places where she might, at this season, have met any of her numerous acquaintances. I chose to cross the Splugen Pa.s.s to the Lake of Constance. Thence we came here by the Nagold railway. I propose to take her to the Rhine, where we will take the Rhine boat to Rotterdam. n.o.body travels by the Rhine nowadays. You got my telegram at Vienna? Yes. Yours went to Wiesbaden, was telegraphed to Como, and thence here. I had just time to send an answer directed to you at Vienna, as a pa.s.senger by the Oriental Express, giving you the name of this place. I signed it with your mother's name.”
”She does not know I have left Constantinople, then?”
”No. I feared that the news would have a bad effect. She receives her letters, of course, but telegrams often do harm to people in her state,--so I naturally opened yours.”
”Is she perfectly sane in all other respects?” asked Paul, speaking with an effort.
”Perfectly.”
”Then she is not insane at all,” said Paul, in a tone of conviction.
”I do not understand you,” answered the professor, staring at him in some surprise.
”If you knew how she loved my poor brother, and how little she loves me, you would understand better. Without being insane, she might well believe that I had let him lose himself in Stamboul, or even that I had killed him. You read my letter,--you can remember how strange a story it was. There is nothing but the evidence of a Turkish soldier to show that I did not contribute to Alexander's disappearance.”
”It was certainly a very queer story,” said the professor gravely.
”Nevertheless, I am of opinion that Madame Patoff is under the influence of a delusion. I cannot think that if she were in her right mind she would insist as she does, and with such violence, that you are guilty of making away with your brother.”
”I must see her,” said Paul firmly. ”I have come from Constantinople to see her, and I cannot go back disappointed.”
”I think it would be a great mistake for you to seek an interview,”
answered the professor, no less decidedly. ”It might bring on a fit of anger.”
”Which might be fatal?” inquired Paul.
”No, but which might affect her brain.”
”I do not think so. Pardon my contradicting you, professor, but I have a very strong impression that my mother is not in the least insane, and that I may succeed in bringing her to look at this dreadful business in its true light.”
”I fear not,” answered Dr. Cutter sadly.
”But you do not know,” insisted Paul. ”Unless you are perfectly sure that my mother is really mad, you can have no right to prevent my seeing her. I may possibly persuade her. I am the only one left,” he added bitterly, ”and I must be a son to her in fact as well as in relation. I cannot, for my own sake, let her go to our English relatives, with this story to tell, without at least contradicting it.”