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Updated: June 14, 2025
Paul Verdayne was young and fresh and foolish when his episode began. He believed in himself he believed in his mother, and in a number of other worthy things. Life was full of certainties for him. He was certain he liked hunting better than anything else in the world for instance.
Yet it was a face of great refinement and distinction, accentuated in a strange way by a long, black, and well-trimmed beard. The man, plainly, was not a Frenchman, nor, Paul decided, was he a German; certainly he was not an Italian nor an Austrian. A subtle something about the man's whole appearance, indeed, brought Verdayne to the conclusion that he was a Russian.
"Thank you for telling me, Father Paul. It was kind of you to open your past life to me like this, and very unkind of me to ask what I should have known would cost you such pain to tell. I am truly sorry for it all, Father Paul. Thank you again and forgive me!" "It's a relief to open one's heart, sometimes, to one who can sympathize," replied Verdayne, with a deep sigh.
It gave suddenly with a jerk, and there lay a dog's collar, made of small flexible plates of pure beaten gold, mounted on Russian leather, all of the finest workmanship. And on a slip of paper in his darling's own writing he read: "This is for Pike, my beloved one; let him wear it always a gift from me." On the collar itself, finely engraved, were the words, "Pike, belonging to Paul Verdayne."
"I have never learned the word! Could you be patient, Uncle Paul, when youth was all on fire in your heart, with your own life shrouded in mystery? Could you, I say, be patient then?" Verdayne laughed indulgently as his strong fingers stroked the Boy's brown curls. "Perhaps not, Boy, perhaps not!
And in a big mansion over in Berkeley Square Monsieur Paul Zalenska wondered and listened. It was a whole two weeks after the Boy's experience at the theatre, and though the echoes of that mysterious voice still rang through all his dreams at night, and most of his waking hours, he had not heard its lilt again. Paul Verdayne smiled to himself to note the youngster's sudden interest in society.
Sir Charles Verdayne had said. "He's my son, you know, and you can't expect to cure him of one wench unless you provide him with shekels to buy another." Which crudely expressed wisdom had been followed, and Paul had no worries where his banking account was concerned. He bought the tiger, and ordered it to be sent to his rooms immediately. Then there was lunch to be thought of.
It must be confessed she could not see what there was about Isabella to hold the love and loyalty of a man like Paul for so long, but then and she sighed at the thought of the wasted years "Love is blind," they say and so's a lover! And her motherly heart longed for grandchildren Paul's children as it had always longed for them. Paul Verdayne sat opposite his penitent mother and pondered.
I would not be a woman if I were not always ready to enlist in the cause of a lover. And as for helping you, I would do anything for Sir Paul Verdayne which lay in my power. You want to find her at once?" she asked him. "Yes, Madame." "Then you are going to Russia to-day, if I read your face rightly. Well, it is a long journey. I will tell you in two words where to find her near Kieff.
For this straight young sapling, who was only the "Boy" to Paul Verdayne, was to the world at large an heir to a throne, a king who had been left in infancy the sole ruler of his kingdom. His visits to Verdayne Place were incognito. He did like to throw aside the purple now and then and be the real live boy he was at heart.
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