But he was a skilful diplomatist; he showed nothing of this. He kissed her fondly, with the warm kiss of a man who hoped some day to make her his wife.

"Ah, my dear sweetheart, how pleasant to see you again!" said the base hypocrite. "I have had a busy day. Things are going well. It will not be long before my utmost ambitions are realised." He spoke confidently; he was ever an optimist, and he believed in his own particular star.

La Belle Quero felt an inward qualm. Corsini was nothing to her now.

And, in that brief interview with Nada, she had surmised, through all her girlish dignity and reticence, that the Princess was more than half in love with him. Otherwise, would she have been so eager to save him?

But if Zouroff triumphed, as he seemed to have every hope of doing, the Italian's fate would be sealed. And Le Belle Quero was sure she could not save him a second time. The fates would not be propitious to her again.

"Old friends are best, my dear," said the Prince in his most agreeable tones, as he seated himself in one of the luxurious easy-chairs and lighted a cigarette. "Somehow a little cloud seems to have come between us lately, I should like to remove it."

Madame Quero looked a little uneasy. She knew full well to what he was alluding. Her obvious _tendresse_ for the young director had occasioned a good deal of talk; no doubt some of it had floated to Zouroff's ears.

"Do not let us speak of clouds, Boris. We have been long and good friends. Let us be good friends again."

"With all my heart," responded the Prince, with his most charming smile. "Well, I have come to tell you I shall not be at the Opera to-night. I have to see a great many people, make a great many arrangements. I cannot tell you how sorry I am; I know it is one of your great nights. But you understand--business must always come before pleasure."

Madame a.s.sented good humouredly. "It has always been so with you, Boris, at any rate. You are a great man in many ways, perhaps a little too optimistic, a little too sure of yourself."

The Prince smiled his confident smile. "A pessimist is not much good in this world, my dear. Believe in yourself and your star, and you will become a leader of men."

"Perhaps," sighed Madame Quero. She was beginning to be very attracted to him again. He was certainly in a most charming mood to-night; she felt herself carried back to the old days when she had been infatuated with him, with his virility, his a.s.surance, even the hint of that brutal strength which lay at the back of his plausible exterior.

At length the Prince rose. "I wonder whether you would do me a little kindness. It is a long time since we had a meal together and I told them at home I should not be back till late to-night, after the meeting here. You have given instructions to Stepan to be in readiness?"

Yes, she had given instructions to Stepan.

"Then you will give me a little snack before you start for the Opera?

No prolonged, heavy meal, we have neither of us time for that, just something light."

"But, of course, Boris. You are always welcome to my hospitality, such as it is. You will be here an hour before I have to start for the Opera?"

The hypocrite bent low and kissed the hand she extended to him. "I will be here on the tick of the clock. _Au revoir_, my old sweetheart, who has come back to me again."

He went out, intent on his dark schemes. He plumed himself on the fact that he had played his _role_ quite well. And she, this treacherous woman who had sold him on account of her sudden fancy for Corsini, had also played her part perfectly. It was diamond cut diamond, but he was sure he would cut deeper of the two.

He was back to the minute. It was a light meal, but Madame Quero, persuading herself that she was happy in this sudden reconciliation, had provided him some dainties that he was very fond of. Zouroff was in the highest spirits; he praised everything, drank her health several times in the excellent champagne she had provided. The singer ate sparingly and drank very little. It was a gala night at the Opera, she had to be careful of her voice, of those liquid notes which were presently to charm the house.

The moments fled swiftly, it was time for her to start. Zouroff was going on foot to the house of a fellow conspirator.

He bade her good-night, and carelessly drew a small box from his pocket. "See, I did not forget you, I have brought a box of your favourite chocolates." He pointed with his finger to one. "See, here is a fine fat fellow, I will take a smaller one."

La Quero could never resist chocolates. She took the big one Zouroff pointed out to her and crunched it in her even white teeth. The Prince laid the box on the table.

"Good-night," he said. "There is no time to lose. We are both a little late." He went out, with a strange smile on his face.

Looking back to it in the happy after years, Corsini always declared that of all days this had been the most eventful day in his life.

At the hotel, on the previous evening, he had found waiting for him the note from Ivan the Cuckoo, who did not know at the time he despatched that missive that he was a free man. Corsini, accompanied by his faithful bodyguard, was to repair to Ivan's mean lodging that night.

Nello was not without a spirit of adventure. He was rather looking forward to what would happen at midnight. He was to change places with Stepan, heavily handicapped as to hearing and speech, and listen to the conversation of the conspirators.

It was a gala night at the Opera. The Emperor and his consort were to be there. On such ceremonious occasions, Corsini was wont to conduct the orchestra himself, as a mark of respect to the autocrat. The Opera given on this particular night was a famous masterpiece in those days, Rossini's "Semiramide."

It was a great house. The flower of Russia's n.o.bility was gathered in the boxes and stalls of the vast building, the men attired in immaculate costume, the women radiant in their flashing jewels. In a far box, Nello saw the charming young Princess with an elderly friend, acting as her chaperon in place of her mother. Evidently she had not taken his advice. He cast a lightning glance around as he bowed to the plaudits of the audience. He was looking for Zouroff, but he could not see him. If the Prince was in the crowded house, he had missed him.

Certainly he was not in the box where his sister sat.

He conducted the overture. In a few moments the curtain would rise.

Before he had got to the end of the last few bars, there was heard a piercing scream, the cry of a woman. It penetrated to every corner of the building and created an uneasy feeling in the audience.

Nello recognised the situation at once. He beat with his baton on the desk and started the overture again. Something had happened. He would know in a few minutes.

At last the curtain rose. The stage-manager, looking very agitated, appeared. In a few brief sentences he explained that Madame Quero had been attacked with sudden indisposition; that he must crave the indulgence of the audience for her understudy, who would take her place.

Corsini dared not leave his desk. On such a night as this he could not affront his Emperor and this brilliant a.s.semblage by deputing his task to a subordinate. He went through the Opera with the conscientious spirit of the artist. But all the time his thoughts were dwelling on La Belle Quero, the woman who had braved Zouroff's vengeance in order to save him.

It was evidently a serious indisposition. If it had been only a slight attack, the handsome singer would have pulled herself together and appeared some time in the course of the evening. With her jealous temperament, she was not the woman to give an understudy too big a chance.

At last the Opera was over, the brilliant crowd filed out. Corsini went round to the wings to inquire after La Belle Quero. One of his subordinates gave him the information he sought.

"Madame Quero is very ill, Signor. The doctor was called in. He did not seem quite able to diagnose her symptoms. He had her conveyed home and consigned to the care of her own maid and her own physician."

Corsini at once despatched a messenger to the villa, with instructions to report to him at his hotel. The man came back with disquieting news. The singer was still in a comatose state, and her life was despaired of.

A swift thought swept through the Italian's mind. Had Zouroff anything to do with this, apparently, fatal illness? Had he discovered the part she had played in his rescue?

And a still more disturbing thought a.s.sailed him. If the Prince had taken this swift vengeance on La Belle Quero, it would not be long before he revenged himself on Nada. If only he could have conveyed a message to that box, to entreat her to fly before it was too late!

Zouroff was evidently a scoundrel of the deepest dye who would stick at nothing.

But he could not act himself. Very shortly he must go to the mean lodging of Ivan, and receive his instructions as to taking the place of the deaf and dumb Stepan. In a brief s.p.a.ce he would be inside that villa where the beautiful singer lay dying.

He did the best that presented itself to him. He despatched a brief note to Beilski.

"Madame Quero attacked with sudden illness. It is reported that she is dying. I have certain suspicions of a person well known to us both.

Please probe the matter. I cannot go myself. You know where I am due to-night."

A little later, Corsini, escorted by his vigilant bodyguard, took his way to the mean quarter of the town where Ivan was lodged.

CHAPTER XXII

Ivan met him in the doorway. "You are punctual, Signor," he said, as he ushered him into the shabby apartment.

"My friend, first of all, you are no longer an outlaw," cried Corsini cheerfully as he cast his glance round the dingy room. "The Emperor himself has graciously accorded a full and free pardon, and if this night's work turns out well, there will be a very handsome reward in addition. So, you see, things are marching."

The outlaw stretched his hands out, and for a moment it seemed as if he would dissolve in tears. Then he recovered himself, and his voice rang out, clear and firm.