In consideration of all she was doing the
Princess kissed her on both her sallow cheeks as she took her leave.
The Princess attached no importance at all to this mark of
affectionate esteem, but it pleased the Baroness very much.
Just as the latter was going away, the door opened suddenly, and a
weak-looking young man put in his head.
"Mamma! Mamma!" he cried, in a thin tone of distress, almost as if he
were going to cry.
He was nearly thirty years old, though he looked younger. He was thin,
and pale, with a muddy and spotted complexion, and his scanty black
hair grew far back on his poorly developed forehead. His eyes had a
look that was half startled, half false. Though he was carefully
dressed he had not shaved, because he could not shave himself and his
valet had departed with the rest of the servants. He was the
Princess's only son, himself the present Prince, and the heir of all
the Conti since the year eleven hundred.
"Mamma!"
"What is the matter, sweetheart?" asked the Princess, with ready
sympathy. "Your hands are quite cold! Are you ill?"
"The child! Something has happened to it--we do not know--it looks so
strange--its eyes are turned in and it is such a dreadful colour--do
come--"
But the Princess was already on her way, and he spoke the last words
as he ran after her.
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