Then her attention was diverted, as it always was each time she saw the blazing braziers and heaped up flaming piles of wood at the corners of the streets, since she had been in Russia. "How glad I am there is something to make the poor people warm," she said.

"When it gets below twelve degrees it is difficult to enjoy life, certainly," the Prince agreed. "And, indeed, it is hard sometimes not to freeze."

It was a strange lurid picture, the Isvostchiks drawn round, while the patient horses with their sleighs stood quiet some little distance off.

How hard must existence be to these poor things.

Supper could not be ready for half an hour, the Prince told them when they got to the Fontonka House, and as they all arrived more or less together, they soon paired off for bridge.

"I am going to show Mrs. Loraine my pictures," the host said. "She admires our Catherine and Peter the Great."

And in the salon where they all sat, he began pointing out this one and that, making comments in a distrait voice. But when they came to the double doors at the end he opened them wide, and led Tamara into another great room.

"This is the ballroom," he said. "It is like all ballrooms, so we shall not linger over that. I have two Rembrandts in my own apartment beyond which it may interest you to see, and a few other relics of the past."

He was perfectly matter of fact, his manner had not a shade of gallantry in it, and Tamara accepted this new situation and followed him without a backward thought.

They seemed to go through several sheet-shrouded salons and came out into a thoroughly comfortable room. Its general aspect of decoration had a Byzantine look, and on the floor were several magnificent bear skins, while around the walls low bookcases with quant.i.ties of books stood. And above them many arms were crossed. Over the mantlepiece a famous Rembrandt frowned, and another from the opposite wall. But it was strange there were no photographs of dancers or actresses about as Tamara would have thought.

The Prince talked intelligently. He seemed to know of such things as pictures, and understood their technique. And if he had been an elderly art critic he could not have been more aloof.

Presently Tamara noticed underneath the first picture there was hung a quaint sword. Something in its shape and workmanship attracted her attention, and she asked its history.

The Prince took it down and placed it in her hand.

"That sword belonged to a famous person," he said--"a Cossack--Stenko Razin was his name--a robber and a brigand and a great chief. He loved a lady, a Persian Princess whom he had captured, and one day when out on his yacht on the Volga, being drunk from a present of brandy some Dutch travellers had brought him, he clasped her in his arms. She was very beautiful and gentle and full of exquisite caresses, and he loved her more than all his wealth. But mad thoughts mounted to his brain, and after making an oration to the Volga for all the riches and plunder she had brought him, he reproached himself that he had never given this river anything really valuable in return, and then exclaiming he would repair his fault, unclasped the clinging arms of his mistress and flung her overboard."

"What a horrible brute!" exclaimed Tamara, and she put down the sword.

The Prince took it up and drew it from its sheath.

"The Cossacks had a wild strain in them even in those days," he said.

"You must not be too hard on me for merely riding my horse!"

"Would you be cruel like that, too, Prince?" Tamara asked; and she sat down for a second on the arm of a carved chair. And when he had put the sword back in its place, he bent forward and leaned on the back of it.

"Yes, I could be cruel, I expect," he said. "I could be even brutal if I were jealous, or the woman I loved played me false, but I would not be cruel to her while it hurt myself. Razin lost his pleasure for days through one mad personal act. It would have been more sensible to have kept her until he was tired of her, or she had grown cold to him. Don't you agree with me about that?"

"It is a horrible history and I hate it," Tamara said. "Such ways I do not understand. For me love means something tender and true which could never want to injure the thing it loved."

He looked at her gravely.

"Lately I have wondered what love could mean for me. Tell me what you think, Madame," he said.

She resolved not to allow any emotion to master her, though she was conscious of a sudden beating of her heart.

"You would torture sometimes, and then you would caress."

"I would certainly caress."

He moved from his position and walked across the room, while he talked as though the words burst from him.

"Yes, I should demand unquestioning surrender, and if it were refused me, then I might be cruel. And if my love were cold or capricious, _then_ I would leave her. But if she loved me truly--my G.o.d, it would be bliss."

"Think how it would hurt her when you did those foolish things though,"

Tamara said.

He stopped short in his restless walk.

"No one does foolish things when he is happy, Madame. All such outbursts are the froth of a soul in its seething. But if one were satisfied--" he paused, and then he went on again. "Oh! If you knew!--In the desert in Egypt I used to think I had found rest, sometimes. I am sated with this life here. A quoi bon, Madame!--the same thing year after year!--and then since I have known you. I have wondered if perhaps you in your country could teach me peace."

"So many of you are so desequilibres," Tamara said. "You seem to be so polished and sensible and even great, and then in a moment you are off at a tangent, displaying that want of discipline that we at home would not permit in a child."

"Yes it is true."

"It seems that you love, and must have, or you hate and must kill.

There are storms and pa.s.sions, and the gaiety of children and their irresponsibility, and all on the top is good manners and smiles, but underneath--I have a feeling I know not what volcano may burst."

"Tonight I feel one could flame with me." He came up close now and looked into her eyes, as if he were going to say something, and then he restrained himself.

Tamara did not move, she looked at him gravely.

"You all seem as if you had no aim," she said. "You are not interested in the politics of your country. You don't seem to do anything but kill time--Why?"

"Our country!" he said, and he flung himself into a seat near. "It would be difficult to make you understand about that. In the old days of the serfs, it was all very well. One could be a good landlord and father to them all, but now----" Then he got up restlessly and paced the room. "Now there are so many questions. If one would think it would drive one mad, but I am a soldier, Madame, so I do not permit myself to speculate at all."

"Things are not then as you would wish?" she asked.

"As I would wish--no, not as I would wish--but as I told you, I do not mix myself up with them. I only obey the Emperor and shall to the end of my life."

Tamara saw she had stirred too deep waters. His face wore a look of profound melancholy. She had never felt so drawn toward him. She let her eyes take in the picture he made. There was something very n.o.ble about his brow and the set of his head. Who could tell what thoughts were working in his brain. Presently he got up again and knelt by her side--his movements had the grace and agility of a cat. He took her hand and kissed it.

"Madame, please don't make me think," he said. "The question is too great for one man to help. I do not go with the Liberals or any of the revolt. Indeed I am far on the other side. Good to this country should all have come in a different, finer way, and now it must work out its own salvation as best it may. For me, my only duty is to my master.

Nothing else could count." His eyes which looked into hers seemed great sombre pools of unrest and pain.

She did not take away her hand and he kissed it again.

Then the clock on the mantlepiece chimed one, and she started to her feet.

"Oh! Prince, should we not be thinking of supper," she said. "Come, let us forget we have been serious and go back and eat!"

He rose.

"They have probably gone in without us, they know me so well," he said; "but as you say, we will no more be serious, we will laugh."

Then he took her hand, and merrily, like two children, they ran through all the big empty rooms to find exactly what he had predicted had occurred. The party were at supper quite unconcerned!

It was such a gay scene. Princess Sonia and Serge Grekoff were busily cutting raw ham, by their places; while others drank tea or vodka or champagne, or helped themselves from various dishes the servants had brought up. There was no ceremony or stiffness, each one did as he pleased.