"Oh, the ink!" He brushed my words scornfully aside. "No, that's nothing. We must postpone that to a more propitious time.

Meanwhile--meanwhile, Ivan Andreievitch, I've hit it at last!"

"What is it this time?" I asked.

He could hardly speak for his excitement. "It's wood--the bark--the bark of the tree, you know--a new kind of fibre for cloth. If I hadn't got to look after these people here, I'd take you and show you now. You're a clever fellow--you'd understand at once. I've been showing it to Alexei"

(he nodded in the direction of Semyonov), "and he entirely agrees with me that there's every kind of possibility in it. The thing will be to get the labour--that's the trouble nowadays--but I'll find somebody--one of these timber men...."

So that was it, was it? I looked across at Semyonov, who was now seated on Vera's right hand just opposite Boris Grogoff. He was very quiet, very still, looking about him, his square pale beard a kind of symbol of the secret immobility of his soul. I fancied that I detected behind his placidity an almost relieved self-satisfaction, as though things were going very much better than he had expected.

"So Alexei Petrovitch thinks well of it, does he?" I asked.

"Most enthusiastic," answered Markovitch eagerly. "He's gone into the thing thoroughly with me, and has made some admirable suggestions....

Ivan Andreievitch, I think I should tell you--I misjudged him. I wasn't fair on what I said to you the other day about him. Or perhaps it is that being at the Front has changed him, softened him a bit. His love affair there, you know, made him more sympathetic and kindly. I believe he means well to us all. Vera won't agree with me. She's more cynical than she used to be. I don't like that in her. She never had a suspicious nature before, but now she doesn't trust one."

"You don't tell her enough," I interrupted.

"Tell her?" he looked at me doubtfully. "What is there I should tell her?"

"Everything!" I answered.

"Everything?" His eyes suddenly narrowed, his face was sharp and suspicious. "Does she tell me everything? Answer me that, Ivan Andreievitch. There was a time once--but now--I give my confidences where I'm trusted. If she treated me fairly--"

There was no chance to say more; they called us to the table. I took my place between Nina and Ivan.

As I have said, the supper began very merrily. Boris Grogoff was, I think, a little drunk when he arrived; at any rate he was noisy from the very beginning. I have wondered often since whether he had any private knowledge that night which elated and excited him, and was responsible in part, perhaps, for what presently occurred. It may well have been so, although at the time, of course, nothing of the kind occurred to me.

Nina appeared to have recovered her spirits. She was sitting next to Lawrence, and chattered and laughed with him in her ordinary fashion.

And now, stupidly enough, when I try to recall exactly the steps that led up to the catastrophe, I find it difficult to see things clearly. I remember that very quickly I was conscious that there was danger in the air. I was conscious of it first in the eyes of Semyonov, those steady, watching, relentless eyes so aloof as to be inhuman. He was on the other side of the table, and suddenly I said to myself, "He's expecting something to happen." Then, directly after that I caught Vera's eye, and I saw that she too was anxious. She looked pale and tired and sad.

I caught myself in the next instant saying to myself, "Well, she's got Lawrence to look after her now"--so readily does the spirit that is beyond one's grasp act above and outside one's poor human will.

I saw then that the trouble was once again, as it had often been before, Grogoff. He was drinking heavily the rather poor claret which Markovitch had managed to secure from somewhere. He addressed the world in general.

"I tell you that we're going to stop this filthy war," he cried. "And if our government won't do it, we'll take things into our own hands...."

"Well," said Semyonov, smiling, "that's a thing that no Russian has ever said before, for certain."

Every one laughed, and Grogoff flushed. "Oh, it's easy to sneer!" he said. "Just because there've been miserable cowards in Russian history, you think it will always be so. I tell you it is not so. The time is coming when tyranny will topple from its throne, and we'll show Europe the way to liberty."

"By which you mean," said Semyonov, "that you'll involve Russia in at least three more wars in addition to the one she's at present so magnificently losing."

"I tell you," screamed Grogoff, now so excited that he was standing on his feet and waving his gla.s.s in the air, "that this time you have not cowards to deal with. This will not be as it was in 1905; I know of what I'm speaking."

Semyonov leant over the table and whispered something in Markovitch's ear. I had seen that Markovitch had already been longing to speak. He jumped up on to his feet, fiercely excited, his eyes flaming.

"It's nonsense that you are talking, sheer nonsense!" he cried.

"Russia's lost the war, and all we who believed in her have our hearts broken. Russia won't be mended by a few vapouring idiots who talk and talk without taking action."

"What do you call me?" screamed Grogoff.

"I mention no names," said Markovitch, his little eyes dancing with anger. "Take it or no as you please. But I say that we have had enough of all this vapouring talk, all this pretence of courage. Let us admit that freedom has failed in Russia, that she must now submit herself to the yoke."

"Coward! Coward!" screamed Grogoff.

"It's you who are the coward!" cried Markovitch.

"Call me that and I'll show you!"

"I do call you it!"

There was an instant's pause, during which we all of us had, I suppose, some idea of trying to intervene.

But it was too late. Grogoff raised his hand and, with all his force, flung his gla.s.s at Markovitch. Markovitch ducked his head, and the gla.s.s smashed with a shattering tinkle on the wall behind him.

We all cried out, but the only thing of which I was conscious was that Lawrence had sprung from his seat, had crossed to where Vera was standing, and had put his hand on her arm. She glanced up at him. That look which they exchanged, a look of revelation, of happiness, of sudden marvellous security, was so significant that I could have cried out to them both, "Look out! Look out!"

But if I had cried they would not have heard me.

My next instinct was to turn to Markovitch. He was frowning, coughing a little, and feeling the top of his collar. His face was turned towards Grogoff and he was speaking--could catch some words: "No right... in my own house... Boris... I apologise... please don't think of it." But his eyes were not looking at Boris at all; they were turned towards Vera, staring at her, begging her, beseeching her.... What had he seen?

How much had he understood? And Nina? And Semyonov?

But at once, in a way most truly Russian, the atmosphere had changed. It was Nina who controlled the situation. "Boris," she cried, "come here!"

We all waited in silence. He looked at her, a little sulkily, his head hanging, but his eyes glancing up at her.

He seemed nothing then but a boy caught in some misdemeanour, obstinate, sulky, but ready to make peace if a chance were offered him.

"Boris, come here!"

He moved across to her, looking her full in the face, his mouth sulky, but his eyes rebelliously smiling.

"Well... well...."

She stood away from the table, drawn to her full height, her eyes commanding him: "How dare you! Boris, how dare you! My birthday--_mine_--and you've spoilt it, spoilt it all. Come here--up close!"

He came to her until his hands were almost on her body; he hung his head, standing over her.

She stood back as though she were going to strike him, then suddenly with a laugh she sprang upon the chair beside her, flung her arms round his neck and kissed him; then, still standing on the chair, turned and faced us all.

"Now, that's enough--all of you. Michael, Uncle Ivan, Uncle Alexei, Durdles--how dare you, all of you? You're all as bad--every one of you.

I'll punish all of you if we have any more politics. Beastly politics!

What do they matter? It's my birthday. My _birthday_, I tell you. It _shan't_ be spoilt."

She seemed to me so excited as not to know what she was saying. What had she seen? What did she know?... Meanwhile Grogoff was elated, wildly pleased like a boy who, contrary to all his expectations, had won a prize.

He went up to Markovitch with his hand out:

"Nicholas--forgive me--_Prasteete_--I forgot myself. I'm ashamed--my abominable temper. We are friends. You were right, too. We talk here in Russia too much, far too much, and when the moment comes for action we shrink back. We see too far perhaps. Who knows? But you were right and I am a fool. You've taught me a lesson by your n.o.bility. Thank you, Nicholas. And all of you--I apologise to all of you."