A QUESTION OF MEMORY
"Risk the consequences? Yes!"
"If we can't control them, Mademoiselle de Gruche."
He paused a moment, and then went on: "The courtmartial on Mistitch is convened for Saturday. Sterkoff won't be well enough to be tried for another two or three weeks."
"I'm glad he's not dead, though if he recovers only to be shot—! Still, I'm glad I didn't kill him."
"Not by your hand," said Stenovics.
"But you mean in effect? Well, I'm not ashamed. Surely they deserve death."
"Undoubtedly—if Rastatz is wrong and your memory right."
"The Prince's own story?"
"He isn't committed to any story yet." Sophy rested her chin on her hand, and regarded her companion closely. He did not avoid her glance.
"You're wondering what I mean? what I'm after?" he asked her, smiling quietly. "Oh yes, I see you are. Go on wondering, thinking, watching things about you for a day or two—there are three days between now and Saturday. You'll see me again before Saturday—and I've no doubt you'll see the Prince."
"If Rastatz were right—and my memory wrong—?"
He smiled still. "The offence against discipline would be so much less serious. The Prince is a disciplinarian. To speak with all respect, he forgets sometimes that discipline is, in the last analysis, only a part of policy—a means, not an end. The end is always the safety and tranquillity of the State." He spoke with weighty emphasis.
"The offence against discipline! An attempt to assassinate—!"
"I see you cling to your own memory you won't
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