"The game of Gritzko?" and Count Valonne laughed. "Frankly, I think he is very much in love with you, Madame," he said. "So by that you can guess what would be any man's game."
"You have a vivid imagination, and are talking perfect nonsense." Tamara laughed nervously. "I refuse to be the least upset by such ideas!"
At that moment up came Count Boris Varishkine, and after a while she went off with him to a sofa by the window, and there was seated in deep converse when the Prince came in.
He looked at them for a second and then made straight for the Princess
Ardácheff, who was just about to arrange her rubber of bridge.
"Tantine, I want to talk to you," he said.
And the Princess at once left the cardroom and returned with him. They found a quiet corner opposite Tamara and her Garde, and there sat down.
"Tantine, I brought you here to look over there.—What does that mean?"
The Princess put up her glasses to gain time.
"Nothing, dear boy. Tamara is merely amusing herself like all the rest of us at a party. Are you jealous, Gritzko?" she asked.
He looked at her sharply, and for a moment unconsciously fingered the dagger in his belt.
"Yes, I believe I am jealous. I am not at all sure that I do not love your charming friend," he said.
"Well, why don't you marry her then?" suggested the Princess.
"Perhaps I shall—if she does not drive me to doing something mad first. I don't know what I intend. It may be to go off to the Caucasus, or to stay and make her love me so deeply that she will forgive me—no matter what I do."
He paused a moment, and his great eyes filled with mist, and then the wild light grew.
"If ever she becomes my Princess, she shall be entirely for me. I will not let her have a look or thought for any other man. All must be mine—unshared, and then she shall be my queen."
Princess Ardácheff leant back and looked at him. He was in his blue uniform with the scarlet underdress; and even she—old woman and fond friend—could not help picturing the gorgeous joy such a fate would give—to have him for a lover! to see his fierce, proud head bent in devotion, to feel his tender caress. Tamara must be an unutterable fool if she should hesitate.
But what he had said was not reassuring in its prospect of calm. She felt she must put in some small word of admonition.
"You will be careful won't you, Gritzko?" she ventured to suggest.
"Remember, Tamara is an Englishwoman, and not accustomed to your ways."
"It will depend upon herself," he said. "If she goes on teasing me I do not know what I shall do. If she does not—"
"You will be good?"
"Possibly. But one thing, Tantine, I will not be interfered with either by her friend the Englishman or Boris Varishkine."
At this moment Tamara looked up and caught the two pairs of eyes fixed upon her. And into her spirit flowed a devilment.—Duels! They were all nonsense. She should certainly play a little with her new friend.
In her whole life before she came to Russia she had never been really flirtatious. She was in no way a coquette, rather a simple creature who recked little of men. But the simplest woman develops feline qualities under certain provocation; and her pride was deeply hurt.
Count Boris Varishkine asked nothing better than to fall in with her views. He was, however, like most of his countrymen, sincere, and not merely passing the time.
Jack Courtray came up, too, and joined them, his Countess Olga had sent him temporarily from her side. And Tamara scintillated and sparkled as she talked to them both in a way which surprised herself.
This society was very diplomatic, and it amused her to watch the representatives of the different nations—the English and the Russians standing out as so much the finest men.
Presently the little group was joined by Stephen Strong.
"Isn't this an amusing party, Mrs. Loraine?" he said.
"Yes," said Tamara. "And I am beginning to be able to place the members of the different countries. Don't you think the Russians look much the most like us, Mr. Strong?"
"The Russians, dear lady? When you have traveled a little more you will see that term covers half the types of the earth—but I agree. What we see here in Petersburg are very much like us—a trifling difference in the way the eyes are set, and the way the hair is brushed; and, given the same uniforms, half these smart young men might be our English Guards."
"We do not resemble you in character, though," said Count Varishkine. "You can feel just what you like, or not at all, whereas we are storm-tossed, and have not yet learnt the arts of pretence."
"We're a deuced cold-blooded race, aren't we, Tamara?" Jack Courtray said, and he grinned his happy grin.
The little party looked so merry and content Princess Ardácheff hardly liked to disturb them, but was impelled to by a look in Gritzko's face.
"Tamara, dear," she said, as she joined them, "I am so very tired after last night, for once shall we go home reasonably early?"
And Tamara rose gladly to her feet.
"Of course, Marraine, I too am dropping with fatigue," she said.
The Prince spoke a few words to Stephen Strong, and Jack joined in; so that the three were a pace or so to one side when the two ladies wished them goodnight.
"Come and see me early tomorrow, Jack," Tamara said. "I want to show you Tom's letter from home," and she looked up with an alluring smile, feeling the Prince was watching her; then, turning to Count Boris, "I am sure you will regret your bargain in having asked me to dance the Mazurka tomorrow night," she said. "I do not know a single figure or a step—but I hope we shall have some fun. I am looking forward to it."
"More than fun!" the young man said, with devotion, as he kissed her hand.
Then they walked to say goodnight to the hostess, and Gritzko seemed to disappear. But when they got down into the hall they saw him already in his furs.
The Princess' footman began to hand Tamara her snowboots and cloak, but Gritzko almost snatched them from the man's hand. She made no protest, but let him help her to put them on and wrap her up, while her godmother thought it advisable to walk toward the door.
"Tonight was your moment, Madame," he said, in a low voice. "But the gods are often kind to me, and my hour will come!"
Tamara summoned everything she knew of provokingness into her face as she looked up and answered:
"Tant pis! et bon soir! Monsieur le démon de Lermontoff!"
Then she felt it prudent to run quickly after the Princess and get into the automobile!
CHAPTER XIV
It was twenty-four hours later. The night of the Ardácheff ball had come. The glorious house made the background of a festive scene. The company waited all round the galleries for the arrival of the Grand Dukes and the foreign King and Queen.
And Tamara stood by her godmother's side at the top of the stairs, a strange excitement flooding her veins.
Since the night before they had heard nothing of the Prince. And as each guest came in view, past the splendid footmen grouped like statues on every six steps, both women watched with quickening pulses for one insouciant Cossack face.
The Royalties arrived in a gorgeous train, and yet neither Gritzko nor
Count Varishkine.
It might mean nothing, but it was curious all the same. The opening contre-danse was in full swing, and still they never came, and by the time of the second valse after it Tamara was a prey to a vague fear. While the Princess' uneasiness grew more than vague.
Tamara could not enjoy herself. She talked at random, she made her partners continually promenade through the salons, and her eyes constantly scanned the doors.
The immense ballroom, quite two stories high, presented a brilliant sight with its stately decorations of the time of Alexander I. And all the magnificent jewels and uniforms, and the flowers. Somehow a riot of roses takes an extra charm when outside the thermometer measures zero. And no one would have believed, looking at this dignified throng, that they could be the same people who could frolic wildly at a Bohemian supper.
There is a great deal in breeding, after all, and the knowledge of the fitness of things which follows in its train.
Tamara was valsing with Jack Courtray, and they stopped to look at the world.
"Are they not a wonderful people, Jack? Could anything be more decorous and dignified than they are tonight? And yet if you watch, in the contre-danse their eyes have the same excited look as when we wildly capered after supper in Prince Milaslávski's house."
"Which reminds me—why is he not here?" asked Jack.
"I wish I knew," Tamara said. "Jack, be a dear and go and forage about and get hold of Serge Grekoff, if you can see him, or Mr. Strong, or Sasha Basmanoff, or some one who might know—but it seems as if none of them are here."
"As interested as that?" and Lord Courtray laughed. "Well, my child, I'll do my best," so he relinquished her for the next turn and left her with Valonne, who had just arrived.
"Apparently I shall have to go partnerless for the Mazurka," Tamara carelessly said while she watched the Frenchman's face with the corner of her eye. "I was engaged for it to Count Varishkine, and he has never turned up. I do wonder what has happened to him. Do you know?"
"I told you you would be lucky if you got away from here without some row of sorts, Madame," and Valonne smiled enigmatically.
"What do you mean? Please tell me?" and Tamara turned pale.
"I mean nothing; only I fancy you will only see one of them tonight; which it will be is still on the cards."
A cold, sick feeling came over Tamara.
"You are not insinuating that they have been fighting?" she asked, with a tremble in her voice which she could not control.
But Valonne reassured her.
"I am insinuating nothing," he said, with a calm smile. "Let us have one more turn before this charming valse stops."
And, limp and nerveless, Tamara allowed herself to be whirled around the room; nor could she get anything further out of Valonne.
When it was over she sought in vain for her godmother or Jack or Stephen Strong. The Princess was engaged with the Royalties and could not be approached, and neither of the men were to be seen.
The next half-hour was agony, in which, with a white face and fixed smile, Tamara played her part, and then just before the Mazurka was going to begin Gritzko came in.
It seemed as if her knees gave way under her for a moment, and she sat down in a seat. The relief was so great. Whatever had happened he at least was safe.
She watched him securing two chairs in the best place, and then he crossed over to where she sat by the door to the refreshment room.
"Bon soir, Madame," he said. "Will you take me as a substitute for your partner, Count Varishkine?" and he bowed with a courtly grace which seemed suited to the scene. "He is, I regret to say, slightly indisposed, and has asked me to crave your indulgence for him, and let me fill his place."
For a moment Tamara hesitated; she seemed to have lost the power of speech; she felt she must control her anxiety and curiosity, so at last she answered gravely:
"I am so very sorry! I hope it is nothing serious. He is so charming,
Count Varishkine."
"Nothing serious. Shall we take our places? I have two chairs there not far from Olga and your friend," and the Prince prepared to lead the way. Tamara, now that the tension was over, almost thought she would refuse, but the great relief and joy she felt in his presence overcame her pride, and she meekly followed him across the room.
They passed the Princess on the way, and as she apparently gave some laughing reply to the Ambassador she was with, she hurriedly whispered in Tamara's ear:
"Pour l'amour de Dieu! Be careful with Gritzko tonight, my child."
When they were seated waiting for the dance to begin Tamara noticed that the Prince was very pale, and that his eyes, circled with blue shadows, seemed to flame.
The certainty grew upon her that some mysterious tragic thing had taken place; but, frightened by the Princess' words, she did not question him.
She hardly spoke, and he was silent, too. It seemed as though now he had gained his end and secured her as a partner it was all he meant to do.
Presently he turned to her and asked lazily:
"Have you been amused since the Moravian reception? How have you passed the time? I have been at Tsarsköi again, and could not come to see Tantine."
"We have been quite happy, thanks, Prince," Tamara said. "Jack Courtray and I have spent the day studying the lovely things in the Hermitage. We must see what we can before we both go home."
Gritzko looked at her.
"I like him—he is a good fellow—your friend," and then he added reflectively: "But if he spends too much time with you I hope the bears will eat him!"
This charitable wish was delivered in a grave, quiet voice, as though it had been a blessing.
"How horrible you are!" Tamara flashed. "Jack to be eaten by bears!
Poor dear old Jack! What has he done?"
"Nothing, I hope,—as yet; but time will tell. Now we must begin to dance."
And they rose, called to the center by the Master of the Ceremonies to assist in a figure.
While the Prince was doing his part she noticed his movements seemed languid and not full of his usual wild entrain, and her feeling of unease and dread of she knew not what increased.
Tamara was very popular, and was hardly left for a moment on her chair when the flower figures began, so their conversations were disjointed, and at last almost ceased, and unconsciously a stiff silence grew up between them, caused, if she had known it, on his side, by severe physical pain.
She was surprised that he handed all his flowers to her but did not ask her to dance, nor did he rise to seek any other woman. He just sat still, though presently, when magnificent red roses were brought in in a huge trophy, and Serge Grekoff was seen advancing with a sheaf of them to claim Tamara, he suddenly asked her to have a turn, and got up to begin.
She placed her hand on his arm, and she noticed he drew in his breath sharply and winced in the slightest degree. But when she asked him if something hurt him, and what it was, he only laughed and said he was well, and they must dance; so away they whirled.
A feverish anxiety and excitement convulsed Tamara. What in heaven's name had occurred?
When they had finished and were seated again she plucked up courage to ask him:
"Prince, I feel sure Count Varishkine is not really ill. Something has happened. Tell me what it is."
"I never intended you to dance the Mazurka with him," was all Gritzko said.
"And how have you prevented it?" Tamara asked, and grew pale to her lips.
"What does it matter to you?" he said. "Are you nervous about Boris?"
And now he turned and fully looked at her, and she was deeply moved by the expression in his face.
He was suffering extremely, she could distinguish that, but underneath the pain there was a wild triumph, too. Her whole being was wrung. Love and fear and solicitude, and, yes, rebellion also had its place. And at last she said:
"I am nervous, not for Count Varishkine, but for what you may have done."
He leaned back and laughed with almost his old irresponsible mirth.
"I can take care of my own deeds, thanks, Madame," he said.
And then anger rose in Tamara beyond sympathy for pain.
She sat silent, staring in front of her, the strain of the evening was beginning to tell. She hardly knew what he said, or she said, until the Mazurka was at an end, all the impression it left with her was one of tension and fear. Then the polonaise formed, and they went in to supper.
Here they were soon seated next their own special friends, and Gritzko seemed to throw off all restraint. He drank a great deal, and then poured out a glass of brandy and mixed it with the champagne.
He had never been more brilliant, and kept the table in a roar, while much of his conversation was addressed to Tatiane Shébanoff, who sat on his left hand.
Tamara appeared as though she were turned into stone.
And so the night wore on. It was now four o'clock in the morning. The company all went to the galleries again to watch the departure of the King and Queen. And, leaning on the marble balustrade next the Prince, Tamara suddenly noticed a thin crimson stream trickle from under his sleeve to his glove.
He saw it, too, and with an impatient exclamation of annoyance he moved back and disappeared in the crowd. The rest of the ball for Tamara was a ghastly blank, although they kept it up with immense spirit until very late.
She seemed unable to get near the Princess, she was always surrounded, and when at last she did come upon her in deep converse with Valonne: "Tamara, dear," she said, "you must be so dreadfully tired. Slip off to bed. They will go on until daylight," and there was something in her face which prevented any questions.
So, cold and sick with apprehension, poor Tamara crept to her room, and, dismissing her weary maid, sat and rocked herself over her fire.
What horrible thing had occurred?
What was the meaning of that thin stream of blood?
CHAPTER XV
Tamara and her godmother did not meet until nearly lunchtime next day. A little before that meal the Princess came into her room. Tamara was still in bed, perfectly exhausted with the strain of the night. The Princess wore an anxious look of care, as she walked from the window to the dressing table and then back again. Finally she sat down and took up a glove which was lying on a cushion near.
"Tamara, you saw I talked last night with Valonne, and this morning I
sent for Serge Grekoff, but he would not come, so I got Valonne again."
She paused an instant. "I was extremely worried last night about
Gritzko. I dare say you were not to blame, dear, but—"
"Please tell me, Marraine," and poor Tamara sat up and pushed her hair back.
"It appears, as far at I can gather, they all dined at the Fontonka house—Boris Varishkine and Gritzko have always been great friends—and at the end of dinner—Valonne imagines, because no one is sure what took place between them at this stage—Gritzko, it is supposed, said to Boris in quite an amiable way that he did not wish him to dance the Mazurka with you, but to relinquish his right in his—Gritzko's—favor."
She paused again, and Tamara's eyes fixed themselves in fascinated fear on her face. The Princess, after smoothing out the glove in her hand with a nervous energy, went on:
"They had all had quite enough champagne, of course, and apparently Boris refused, and suggested that they should toss up, and whoever won the toss should have first shot in the dark."
"Yes," said Tamara faintly.
"You know, dear, our boys are often very wild, and they have a game they play when they are at the end of their tether for something to do when quartered in some hopeless outpost—a kind of blind-man's-buff—only it is all in the dark, and the blind man stands in the middle of the room and the rest clap hands and then dodge, and he fires his revolver at the point the sound seems to come from, and the object is not to get shot. You may have noticed Sasha Basmanoff has no left thumb? He lost it last year on just such a night."
"Oh! Marraine, how dreadful!" Tamara said.
"It is perhaps not a very civilized game," the Princess continued, "but we are not discussing that, I am telling you what occurred. Well, from this point Valonne and the rest were eyewitnesses. Gritzko and Boris, still laughing in rather a strained way, said they had some slight difference of opinion to settle, and had decided to do it in the ballroom, in the dark. I won't go into details of how many steps to the right or left, the impromptu seconds arranged, only it was settled when Sasha at one end and Serge at the other should shut the doors they should both fire, and if in three times neither was shot, both should give up their claim."
"It is too horrible! and for such a trifle," Tamara said, clutching the bedclothes, and the Princess went on.
"Valonne said they were both hit in the first round, and all the company burst into the room. Nothing seemed very serious, and they laughed and shook hands. So Valonne left to be in time for the ball, but this morning, he told me, he found Boris Varishkine had had a shoulder wound which bled very badly and quite prevented his coming, while Gritzko was shot through the flesh of the right arm, and as soon as they could bind it up decently, as you know, he came on."
Tamara's face was as white as her pillow. She clasped her hands with a movement of anguish.
"Oh! Marraine, I am too unhappy," she wailed. "Indeed, indeed, I did nothing to cause this. You heard me, I only said to Count Varishkine I was looking forward to the dance. He is impossible, Gritzko. Oh! let me go home!"
"Alas! my child, what would be the good of that? If you went off tonight instead of coming to Moscow, it might create a talk; what we want is to prevent a scandal, to hush everything up. None of these men will tell, and your name will not be dragged into it. And if we go on our trip amicably as was arranged it will discountenance rumor. Gritzko and Boris are quite friends again. And if anything about the shooting does leak out, if no one has further cause for connecting you with it, they will generally think it merely one of Gritzko's mad parties. For heaven's sake let it all blow over, and after Moscow and a reasonable time, not to appear too hurried, you shall go home."
"But meanwhile, how can I know that he won't shoot at Jack? or do some other awful thing! He does not love me really a bit, Marraine. It is all out of pride and devilment because he wants to win and conquer me and add me to his scalps, and I won't be conquered. I tell you I won't!" and Tamara clenched her hands.
The Princess did not know what to say, she was not perfectly sure in her own mind as to Gritzko's feelings, and she was too thoroughly acquainted with his ways to hazard any theory as to his possible acts. She felt it might not be fair to assure her godchild that he truly loved her. She could only think of tiding over matters for the time being.
"Tamara, dearest, could you at least try to keep the peace on our trip?" she asked. "Be gentle with him, and do not excite him in any way."
Tamara buried her face in her pillows, she was too English to be dramatic and sob; but when she spoke her soft voice trembled a little and her eyes glistened with tears.
"He is horribly cruel, Marraine," she said.
"Why should he treat me as he does. I won't—I won't bear it."
The Princess sighed.
"Tamara, forgive me for asking you, but I must, I feel I must. Do you—love him, child?"
Then passion flamed up in Tamara's white face, her secret was her own, and she would defend it even from this kind friend—so—"I believe I hate him!" she said.
After a while the Princess left her, they having come to the agreement that Tamara should do all that she could to keep the peace; but when she was alone she decided to speak to Gritzko as little as possible herself, and to ignore him completely. There would be no Boris and no one to make him jealous. She would occupy herself with Stephen Strong, and the sight-seeing, and even Sonia's husband, who was a bore and old, too; but the prospect held out no charms for her. She knew that she loved him deeply—this wild, fierce Gritzko—more deeply than ever today, and the tears, one after another, trickled down her pale cheeks.
If there was not a chance of any happiness, at least she must go home keeping some rag of self-respect. She firmly determined that he should not see the slightest feeling on her side, it should be restrained or perhaps capricious even, as his own.
Their train for Moscow started at nine o'clock, and the whole party had arranged to dine at the Ardácheff house at seven and then go to the station.
Nothing of the scandal of the night seemed to have transpired, for no one even hinted at anything about it.
Gritzko was still very pale, but appeared none the worse, and the atmosphere seemed to have resumed a peaceful note.
The five sleeping compartments reserved for this party of ten were all in a row in one carriage, and Tamara and the Princess, on the plea of fatigue, immediately retired to their berths for the night, Tamara not having addressed a single direct word to Gritzko. So far, so well. But when she was comfortably tucked into the top berth, and an hour or so later was just falling off to sleep, he knocked at the door, and the Princess believing it to be the ticket-collector opened it, and he put his head in. The shade was drawn over the lamp and the compartment was in a blue gloom. Tamara was startled by hearing her godmother say:
"Gritzko! Thou! What do you want, dear boy, disturbing us like this?"
"I came to ask you to tie up my arm," he said. "I was practising with a pistol yesterday, and it went off and the bullet grazed the skin, and the damned thing has begun bleeding again. I know you are a trained nurse, Tantine. Serge, who is with me, has tried and made a ridiculous mess of it, so I brought the bandage to you."
He now pulled back the shade and they saw he was standing there quite sans gêne in the same kind of blue silk pyjamas Tamara remembered to have seen once before, and his eyes, far from being tragic or serious, had the naughtiest, most mischievous twinkle in them, while he whispered to the Princess and enlisted her sympathy for his pain.
"Gritzko, dearest child, but you are suffering! But let me see! only wait in the passage until I have my dressing-gown, and then come in again."
Tamara now thought it prudent to crouch down in the clothes and pretend to be asleep, while the kind Princess got up and arranged herself.
Then with a gentle tap this poor wounded one came in.
Tamara was conscious that her godmother was murmuring horrified and affectionate solicitations, as she busily set to work. She was also conscious that Gritzko was standing with his shoulder leant against her berth. He was so tall he could look at her, in spite of her retirement to the farthest side, and she was horribly conscious of the magnetic power exercised by his eyes. She longed quite to open hers, she longed really to look. She felt so nervous she almost gave a silly little laugh, but her will won, and her long eyelashes remained resting on her cheek.
"You darling. You are doing it beautifully!" he presently said, and then more softly, "I had no idea how pretty your friend is! and how soundly she sleeps! Do you think I might kiss her, Tantine? I have always wanted to, only she is of such a severity I have been too frightened. May I, Tantine?" And his voice sounded coaxing and sweet, and Tamara felt sure he was caressing the Princess' hair with his free hand, for that lady kept murmuring.
"Tais toi!—Gritzko—have done! How can I bind your arm if you conduct yourself so! Not a moment of stillness! Truly what a naughty child—keep still!" Then she spoke more severely to him in Russian, and he laughed while he answered, and then presently the bandage was done, and standing on tip-toe he looked full at Tamara.
"And you think I must not kiss her? Oh! you are a most cruel Tantine! She is sound asleep and would never know, and it would be just one of the things which could cool my fever and help my arm."
But the Princess interposed, sternly, and getting really annoyed with him; he was forced to go. But first he kissed her hand and thanked her and purred affection and gratitude with his astonishing charm, and the Princess' voice grew more and more mollified as she said: "There—there—what a boy! Gritzko, dear child, begone!"
And all this while, with her long eyelashes resting upon her cheek,
Tamara apparently slept peacefully on.
But when the door was safely shut and bolted, the Princess addressed her.
"You are not really asleep, Tamara, I suppose," she said. "You have heard? Is he not difficult. What is one to do with him? I can never remain angry long. Those caresses! Mon Dieu! I wish you would love each other and marry and go and live at Milasláv, and then we others might have a little peace and calm!"
"Marry him," and Tamara raised herself in bed. "One might as well marry a panther in a jungle, it would be quite as safe!" she said.
But the Princess shook her head. "There you are altogether wrong," she replied. "Once there were no continuous obstacles to his will, he would be gentle and adoring, he would be as tender and thoughtful as he is to me when I am ill."
Then into Tamara's brain there rushed visions of the unutterable pleasure this tenderness would mean, and she said:
"Don't let us talk;—I want to sleep, Marraine."
And in the morning they arrived at Moscow.
CHAPTER XVI
The whole day of the sight-seeing passed with comparative smoothness, Tamara persistently remained with Sonia's husband or Stephen Strong, when any moment came that she should be alone with any man.
She was apparently indifferent to Gritzko,—considering that she was throbbing with interest in his every movement and inwardly longing to talk to him—she kept up the rôle she had set herself to play very well. It was not an agreeable one, and but for the inward feverish excitement she would have suffered much pain.
Gritzko for his part seemed whimsically indifferent for most of the time, but once now and then the Princess, who watched things as the god in the car, experienced a sense of uneasiness. And yet she could not suggest any other line of conduct for Tamara to pursue. But on the whole the day was a success.
The two young English guests had both been extremely interested in what they saw. Stephen Strong was an old hand and knew it intimately, and the whole party was so merry and gay. The snow fortunately had held, and they rushed about in little sleighs seeing the quaint buildings and picturesque streets and the churches with their bright gilt domes. Moscow was really Russian, Prince Solentzeff-Zasiekin told them, unlike Petersburg, which at a first glance might be Berlin or Vienna, or anywhere else; but Moscow is like no other city in the world.
"How extremely good you Russians must be," Tamara said. "The quantities of churches you have, and everywhere the people seem so devout. Look at them kissing that Ikon in the street! Such faith is beautiful to see."
"Our faith is our safeguard," her companion said. "When the people become sufficiently educated to have doubts then, indeed, a sad day will come."
"They have such grave patient faces, don't you think?" said Stephen Strong. "It is not exactly a hopeless expression, it is more one of resignation. Whenever I come here I feel of what use is strife, and yet after a while they make one melancholy."
They were waiting by the house of the Romanoffs, for their guide to open the door, and just then a batch of beggars passed, their wild hair and terribly ragged sheepskins making them a queer gruesome sight. They craved alms with the same patient smile with which they thanked when money was given. Misery seemed to stalk about a good deal.
"How could a great family have lived in this tiny house?" Tamara asked. "Really, people in olden times seem to have been able to double up anywhere. Pray look at this bedroom and this ridiculous bed!"
"It will prepare you for what you are coming to at Milasláv," Gritzko said. "A row of tent stretchers for everyone together in the hall!"
Tamara made no answer, she contrived to move on directly he spoke, and her reply now was to the general company, as it had been all day.
If she had looked back then she would have seen a gleam in his eyes which boded no peace. She thought she was doing everything for the best, but each rebuff was adding fuel to that wild fire in his blood.
By the end of the day, after walks through the Treasury and museums, and what not, and never having been able to speak to Tamara, his temper was at boiling point. But he controlled it, and his face wore a mask, which disarmed even the Princess' fears.
Their dinner was very gay, and the Russians asked Lord Courtray what had impressed him most.
"I like the story of Ivan the Terrible putting his jolly old alpenstock through the fellow's foot on the stairs when he came with the letter," Jack said. "Sensible sort of thing to do. Kept the messenger in place."
Meanwhile Tamara was conversing in a lower voice with Stephen Strong.
"The more you stay in this country, the more it fascinates you," he said. "And you feel you have got back to some of the fierce primitive passions of nature. Here, in Moscow, the whole earth must be stained with wild orgies and blood, and yet they are full of poetry and romance. Even Ivan the Terrible had his religious side, and every creature of them believes in the saints and the priests. It is said the impostor who posed as Ivan's son might have succeeded had he not been too kind, he showed clemency to Shuisky and his enemies and did not have them torn to pieces, so the people would not believe he could be the Terrible's son! And they chased him to that window you remember we saw in the old palace of the Kremlin and there he had to throw himself out."
"It makes one wonder what can arise from a history of such horrible crimes," Tamara said.
"You must not forget that the country is practically three hundred years behind the times, though," Stephen Strong went on. "No doubt quite as great horrors marked others if we look at them at an equivalent stage of development. It is missing this point which makes most strangers, and many foreign historians, so unjust to Russia and her people. The national qualities are immeasurably great, but as a civilized nation they are so very young."
"I believe one could grow to love them," Tamara said. "I have never had the feeling that I am among strangers since I have been here."
Then she wondered vaguely why Stephen Strong smiled softly to himself.
By the end of dinner, Gritzko's eyes were blazing, and he suggested every sort of astonishing way to spend the night. But Princess Ardácheff, as the doyenne of the party, prudently put her foot down, and insisted upon bed. For had they not a whole morning of sight-seeing still to do on the morrow, and then their thirty versts in troikas to arrive at Milasláv. So the ladies all trouped off to rest.
"Leave your door open into my room, Tamara dear, if you do not mind," her godmother said. "I am always nervous in hotels—"
"I trust everything is going quietly," she added to herself, "but one never can tell."
Next day the whole sky was leaden with unfallen snow. Nothing more strange and gloomy and barbaric than Moscow looked could have been imagined, Tamara thought. It brought out the gilt domes and the unusual colors of things in a lurid way.
Their first visit was to the Church of the Assumption, where the emperors are crowned. Its great beauty and rich colors pleased the eye. The totally different arrangement of things from any other sort of church—the shape and the absence of chairs or seats—the hidden altar behind the doors of the sanctuary—the numerous pictures and frescoed walls—all gave it a mysterious, wonderful charm, and here again the two English were struck by the people's simple faith.
"We would catch every sort of disease kissing those Ikons after filthy ulcerated beggars," Stephen Strong said to Tamara. "But the belief that only good can come to them brings only good. The study of these people makes one less materialistic and full of common sense. One puts more credence in things occult."
A service was just beginning, it was some high saint's day, and the beautiful singing, the boys' angel voices and the deep bass of the priests, unaccompanied by any instruments or organ, impressed Tamara far more in this old temple than the services had done in any of the St. Petersburg churches.
A peace fell on her soul, and just as the gipsies' music had been of the devil, so this seemed to come from heaven itself. She felt calmed and happier when they came out.
After an early lunch they saw from the hotel windows three troikas drawn up. Two of them Gritzko's, and one belonging to Prince Solentzeff Zasiekin, who had also a country place in the neighbourhood.
The two, which had come a day or so before from Milasláv, were indeed wonderful turn-outs. The Prince prided himself upon his horses, which were renowned throughout Europe.
The graceful shaped sleighs, with the drivers in their quaint liveries standing up to drive, always unconsciously suggest that their origin must have been some chariot from Rome.
Gritzko's colors were a rich greenish-blue, while the reins and velvet caps and belts of the drivers were a dull cerise; the caps were braided with silver, while they and the coats and the blue velvet rugs were lined and bordered with sable. One set of horses was coal black, and the others a dark gray. Everything seemed in keeping with the buildings, and the semi-Byzantine scene with its Oriental note of picturesque grace.
"Which will you choose to go in, Madame?" Gritzko asked. "Shall you be drawn by the blacks or the grays?"
"I would prefer the blacks," Tamara replied. "I always love black horses, and these are such beautiful ones." And so it was arranged.
"If you will come with Stephen and me, Tantine," the Prince said, "we shall be the lighter load and get there first. Madame Loraine and Olga can go with Serge and Lord Courtray, they will take the blacks; that leaves Valonne for Sonia and her husband. Will this please everyone?"
Apparently it did, for thus they started. It was an enchanting drive over the snow. They seemed to fly along, once they had left the town, and the weird bleak country, unmarked by any boundaries, impressed both Tamara and Jack. And while Tamara was speculating upon its mystical side, Lord Courtray was gauging its possibilities for sport.
They at last skirted a dark forest, which seemed to stretch for miles, and then after nearly three hours' drive arrived at the entrance to Milasláv.
They went through a wild, rough sort of park, and then came in view of the house—a great place with tall Ionic pillars supporting the front, and wings on each side—while beyond, stretching in an irregular mass, was a wooden structure of a much earlier date.
It all appeared delightfully incongruous and a trifle makeshift to Tamara and Jack when they got out of their sleigh and were welcomed by their host.
A bare hall, at one side showing discolored marks of mould on the wall, decorated in what was the Russian Empire style, a beautiful conception retaining the classic lines of the French and yet with an added richness of its own. Then on up to a first floor above a low rez de chaussée by wide stairs. These connecting portions of the house seemed unfurnished and barren,—walls of stone or plaster with here and there a dilapidated decoration. It almost would appear as if they were meant to be shut off from the living rooms, like the hall of a block of flats. The whole thing struck a strange note. There were quantities of servants in their quaint liveries about, and when finally they arrived in a great saloon it was bright and warm, though there was no open fireplace, only the huge porcelain stove.
Here the really beautiful, though rather florid Alexander I. style struggled from the walls with an appalling set of furniture of the period of Alexander II. But the whole thing had an odd unfinished look, and a fine portrait of the Prince's grandfather in one panel was entirely riddled with shot!
Some splendid skins of bears and wolves were on the floor, and there was a general air of the room being lived in—though magnificence and dilapidation mingled everywhere. The very rich brocade on one of the sofas had the traces of great rents. And while one table held cigarette cases and cigar boxes in the most exquisitely fine enamel set with jewels, on another would be things of the roughest wood. And a cabinet at the side filled with a priceless collection of snuff boxes and bon-bonnières of Catherine's time had the glass of one door cracked into a star of splinters.
Tamara had a sudden sensation of being a million miles away from England and her family: it all came as a breath of some other life. She felt strangely nervous, she had not the least notion why. There was a reckless look about things which caused a weird thrill.
"If it were only arranged, what capabilities it all has," she thought; "but as it is, it seems to speak of Gritzko and fierce strife."
Tea and the usual quantities of bonnes bouches and vodka awaited them, and a bowl of hot punch.
And all three English people, Stephen Strong, Tamara and Jack, admired their host's gracious welcome, and his courtly manners. Not a trace of the wild Gritzko seemed left.
Tamara wondered secretly what their sleeping accommodation would be like.
"Tantine, you must act hostess for me. Will you show these ladies their rooms," the Prince said. "Dinner is at eight o'clock, but you have lots of time before for a little bridge if you want."
He took them through the usual amount of reception-rooms—a billiard-room and library, and small boudoir—and then they came out on another staircase which led to the floor above. Here he left them and returned to the men.
"This was done up by the late Princess, Tamara," her godmother said.
"Even twenty years ago the taste was perfectly awful, as you can see.
The whole house could be made beautiful if only there was someone who
cared—though I expect we shall be comfortable enough."
The top passage proved to be wide, but only distempered in two colors, like the walls of a station waiting-room. Not the slightest attempt to beautify or furnish with carved chairs, and cabinets of china, and portraits and tapestry on the walls, as in an English house. In the passage all was as plain as a barrack.
Tamara's room and the Princess' joined. They were both gorgeously upholstered in crude blue satin brocade, and full of gilt heavy furniture, but in each there was a modern brass bed.
They were immense apartments, and warm and bright, monuments of the taste of 1878.
"Is it not incredible, Marraine, that with the beautiful models of the eighteenth century in front of them, people could have perpetrated this? Waves of awful taste seem to come, and artists lose their sense of beauty and produce the grotesque."
"This is a paradise compared to some," the Princess laughed. "You should see my sister-in-law's place!"
One bridge table was made up already when they got back to the saloon, and Sonia, Serge Grekoff and Valonne, only waited the Princess' advent to begin their game.
It seemed to be an understood thing that Gritzko and his English guest should be left out, and so practically alone.
"I feel it is my duty to learn to play better," Tamara said, "so I am going to watch."
He put down his hand and seized her wrist. "You shall certainly not," he said. "You cannot be so rude as deliberately to controvert your host. It is my pleasure that you shall sit here and talk."
His eyes were flashing, and Tamara's spirit rose.
"What a savage you are, Prince," she laughed. "Everything must be only as you wish! That I want to watch the bridge does not enter into your consideration."
"Not a bit."
"Well, then, since I must stay here I shall be disagreeable and not say a word."
And she sat down primly and folded her hands.
He lit a cigarette, and she noticed his hand trembled a little, but his voice was quite steady, and in fact low as he said:
"I tell you frankly, if you go on treating me as you have done today, whatever happens is on your head."
"Do you mean to strangle me then?—or have me torn up by dogs?" and Tamara smiled provokingly. With all the others in the room, and almost within earshot, she felt perfectly safe.
She had suffered so much, it seemed good to oppose him a little, when it could not entail a duel with some unoffending man!
"I do not know yet what I shall be impelled to do, only I warn you, if you tease me, you will pay the price." And he puffed a cloud of smoke.
"He can do nothing tonight," Tamara thought, "and tomorrow we are going back to Moscow, and then I am returning home." A spirit of devilment was in her. Nearly always it had been he who regulated things, and now it was her turn. She had been so very unhappy, and had only the outlook of dullness and regret. Tonight she would retaliate, she would do as she felt inclined.
So she leaned back in her chair and smiled, making a tantalizing moue at him, while she said, mockingly:
"Aren't you a barbarian, Prince! Only the days of Ivan the Terrible are over, thank goodness!"
He took a chair and sat down quietly, but the tone of his voice should have warned her as he said:
"You are counting upon the unknown."
She peeped at him now through half-closed alluring lids, and she noticed he was very pale.
In her quiet, well-ordered life she had never come in contact with real passion. She had not the faintest idea of the vast depths she was stirring. All she knew was she loved him very much, and the whole thing galled her pride horribly. It seemed a satisfaction, a salve to her wounded vanity, to be able to make him feel, to punish him a little for all her pain.
"Think! This time next week. I shall be safe in peaceful England, where we have not to combat the unknown."
"No?"
"No. Marraine and I have settled everything. I take the Wednesday's
Nord Express after we get back to Petersburg."
"And tomorrow is Friday, and there are yet five days. Well, we must contrive to show you some more scenes of our uncivilized country, and perhaps after all you won't go."
Tamara laughed with gay scorn. She put out her little foot and tapped the edge of the great stove.
"For once I shall do as I please, Prince. I shall not ask your leave!"
His eyes seemed to gleam, and he lay perfectly still in his chair like some panther watching its prey. Tamara's blood was up. She would not be dominated! She continued mocking and defying him until she drove him gradually mad.
But on one thing she had counted rightly, he could do nothing with them all in the room.
First one and then another left their game, and joined them for a few minutes, and then went back.
And so in this fashion the late afternoon passed and they went up to dress.
No one was down in the great saloon when Tamara and the Princess descended for dinner, but as they entered, Stephen Strong and Valonne came in from the opposite door and joined them near the stove, and Tamara and Valonne talked, while the other two wandered to a distant couch.
"Have you ever been to any of these wonderful parties one hears have taken place, Count Valonne?" she asked.
Valonne smiled his enigmatic smile. "Yes," he said. "I have once or twice—perhaps you think this room shows traces of some rather violent amusements, and really on looking round, I believe it does!"
Tamara shivered slightly. She had the feeling known as a goose walking over her grave.
"It is as if wild animals played here—hardly human beings," she said. "Look at that cabinet, and the sofa, and—and—that picture! One cannot help reflecting upon what caused those holes. One's imagination can conjure up extraordinary things."
"Not more extraordinary than the probable facts," and Valonne laughed as if at some astonishing recollection. "You have not yet seen our host's own rooms though, I expect?"
"Why?" asked Tamara. "But can they possibly be worse than this?"
"No, that is just it. He had them done up by one of your English firms, and they are beautifully comfortable and correct. His sitting-room is full of books, and a few good pictures, and leads into his bedroom and dressing-room; and as for the bathroom it is as perfect as any the best American plumber could invent!"
Valonne had spent years at Washington, and in England too, and spoke
English almost as a native.
"He is the most remarkable contrast of wildness and civilization I have ever met."
"It always seems to me as though he were trying to crush something—to banish something in himself," said Tamara. "As though he did these wild things to forget."
"It is the limitless nature warring against an impossible bar. If he were an Englishman he would soar to be one of the greatest of your country, Madame," Valonne said. "You have not perhaps talked to him seriously; he is extraordinarily well read; and then on some point that we of the Occident have known as children, he will be completely ignorant, but he never bores one! Nothing he does makes one feel heavy like lead!"
Tamara looked so interested, Valonne went on.
"These servants down here absolutely idolize him; they have all been in the house since he or they were born. For them he can do no wrong. He has a gymnasium, and he keeps two or three of them to exercise him, and wrestle with him, and last year Basil, the second one, put his master's shoulder out of joint, and then tried to commit suicide with remorse. You can't, until you have been here a long time, understand their strange natures. So easily moved to passion, so fierce and barbaric, and yet so full of sentiment and fidelity. I firmly believe if he were to order them to set fire to us all in our beds tonight, they would do it without a word! He is their personal 'Little Father.' For them there is a trinity to worship and respect—the Emperor, God, and their Master."
Tamara felt extremely moved. A passionate wild regret swept over her. Oh! why might not fate let him love her really, so that they could be happy. How she would adore to soothe him, and be tender and gentle and obedient, and bring him peace!
But just at that moment, with an air of exasperating insouciant insolence, he came into the room and began chaffing with Valonne, and turning to her said something which set her wounded pride again all aflame, and burning with impotence and indignation she, as the strange guest, put her hand on his arm to go in to dinner.
Zacouska was partaken of, and then the serious repast began. Every one was in the highest spirits. Countess Olga and Lord Courtray looked as though they were getting on with giant strides. Jack had got to the whispering stage, which Tamara knew to be a serious one with him. The whole party became worked up to a point of extra gaiety. On her other hand sat Sonia's husband, Prince Solentzeff-Zasiekin. But Gritzko sparkled with brilliancy and seemed to lead the entire table.
There was something so extremely attractive about him in his character of host that Tamara felt she dared hardly look at him or she could not possibly keep up this cold reserve if she did!
So she turned and talked, and apparently listened, with scarcely a pause to her right-hand neighbor's endless dissertations upon Moscow, and while she answered interestedly, her thoughts grew more and more full of rebellion and unrest.
It was as if a needle had an independent will, and yet was being drawn by a magnet against itself. She had to use every bit of her force to keep her head turned to Prince Solentzeff-Zasiekin, and when Gritzko did address her, only to answer him in monosyllables, stiffly, but politely, as a stranger guest should.
By the end of dinner he was again wild with rage and exasperation.
When they got back to the great saloon, they found the end of it had been cleared and a semicircle of chairs arranged for them to sit in and watch some performance. It proved to be a troupe of Russian dancers and some Cossacks who made a remarkable display with swords, while musicians, in their national dress, accompanied the performance.
Tamara and Lord Courtray had seen this same sort of dancing in London when Russian troupes gave their "turns," but never executed with such wonderful fire and passion as this they witnessed now. The feats were quite extraordinary, and one or two of the women were attractive-looking creatures.
Gritzko's attitude toward them was that of the benevolent master to highly trained valued hounds. Indeed this feeling seemed to be mutual, the hounds adoring their master with blind devotion, as all his belongings did.
During most of the time he sat behind the Princess, and whispered whatever conversation he had in her ear; but every now and then he would move to Princess Sonia or Countess Olga, and lastly subsided close to Tamara, and bending over leaned on the back of her chair.
He did not speak, but his close proximity caused her to experience the exquisite physical thrill she feared and dreaded. When her heart beat like that, and her body tingled with sensation, it was almost impossible to keep her head.
His fierceness frightened her, but when he was gentle, she knew she melted at once, and only longed to be in his arms. So she drew herself up and shrank forward away from him, and began an excited conversation with Stephen Strong.
Gritzko got up abruptly and strode back to the Princess. And soon tables and supper were brought in, and there was a general move.
Tamara contrived to outwit him once more when he came up to speak. It was the only way, she felt. No half-measures would do now. She loved him too much to be able to unbend an inch with safety. Otherwise it would be all over with her, and she could not resist.
They had been standing alone for an instant, and he said, looking passionately into her eyes:
"Tamara, do you know you are driving me crazy—do you think it wise?"
"I really don't care whether my conduct is wise or not, Prince," she replied. "As I told you, tonight, and from now onward, I shall do as I please." And she gathered all her forces together to put an indifferent look on her face.
"So be it then," he said, and turned instantly away, and for the rest of the time never addressed her again.
The long drive in the cold had made every one sleepy, and contrary to their usual custom, they were all ready for bed soon after one o'clock, and to their great surprise Gritzko made no protest, but let the ladies quietly go.
Tamara's last thoughts before she closed her weary eyes were, what a failure it all had been! She had succeeded in nothing. She loved him madly, and she was going back home. And if she had made him suffer, it was no consolation! She would much rather have been happy in his arms!
Meanwhile, Gritzko had summoned Ivan, his major domo, and the substance of his orders to that humble slave was this. That early on the morrow the stove was to be lit in the hut by the lake, where at the time when the woodcock came in quantities he sometimes spent the night waiting for the dawn.
"And see that there is fodder for the horses," he added. "And that Stépan drives my troika with the blacks, and let the brown team be ready, too, but neither of these to come round until the grays have gone. And in the hut put food—cold food—and some brandy and champagne."
The servant bowed in obedience and was preparing to leave the room.
"Oil the locks and put the key in my overcoat pocket," his master called again. And then he lit another cigarette and drawing back the heavy curtains looked out on the night.
It was inky black, the snow had not yet begun to fall.
All promised well.