La Belle Quero and the Prince Zouroff were sitting together in the
boudoir of the small villa on the outskirts of St. Petersburg.
They were both smoking cigarettes. Madame Quero looked anxious and
perturbed, Zouroff surly and annoyed.
"Inez, you are very unreasonable. Why have you dragged me here at this
time of night? If your note had not said 'very urgent,' I should not
have taken myself away from more important matters."
La Belle Quero flicked the ash of her cigarette on the carpet. "Once,
my friend, you would have come on the slightest request from me. I
should not have been compelled to mark my note urgent, eh?"
The Prince answered a little awkwardly. "Don't let us be too
sentimental, dear child. We have been good friends, we have got to a
closer degree of comradeship. Is it not an ideal relationship? Well,
what have you to tell me? You have not summoned me here for nothing, I
am sure?"
"Not even for the pleasure of your society, my most charming and
exquisite Boris?" inquired the _prima donna_, in a tone of raillery.
The Prince frowned. At the moment, the light caprices of women did not
appeal to him.
"You are talking nonsense, my dear Inez. Let us come to the point."
The Spanish woman came to the point at once, with an angry glitter in
her eyes. What a pity that Zouroff was not a little more gentle in his
dealings with women!
"Our little secret evening parties have been discovered, that is all.
It may give you and me food for reflection."
The Prince drew a deep breath. "Discovered! It is impossible. Who
dares to suspect us?"
"It does not matter who suspects us. It is enough that we are
suspected. I suppose the Secret Police have been at work."
Zouroff thought a few moments, and then a sudden light came to him. He
crossed over and grasped the beautiful young woman by the arm.
"Tell me the truth and don't palter with me," he thundered in his
harsh, raucous tones. "Where have you this information? But I can
answer the question myself. It is from that white-livered Italian,
Corsini. He is a spy in the pay of Golitzine."
Madame Quero endeavoured to utter a faltering negative, but Zouroff,
always fond of brutal methods, tightened his grasp on the delicate
flesh.
Under the hypnotic influence of this brutal and commanding man, she
stammered forth the truth.
"You have guessed right. It was Corsini who told me, in a very brief
interview. He had heard the rumour from a friend."
Zouroff smiled. It was a very sinister smile at the best. The lips
curled up, the strong, white, even teeth showed themselves,
suggesting the fangs of a wolf.
"So this degenerate Italian is daring to thrust himself across our
path, is he? Well, then! _the Italian mountebank must disappear_."
Madame Quero rose to her full height and braved the brutal and
truculent Prince.
"I think I have got a word to say in this: If he does disappear, I
shall go to the Emperor and tell him the whole truth."
"You have fallen in love with this young man, eh?" inquired the Prince
in a jeering voice.
"No, I will not say that. And besides, he is in love with somebody
else. But understand me, if you please"--she spoke with her old
imperiousness--"I will not have a hair of this young man's head
harmed. He is young, he is innocent; he shall not fall a victim to
your dastardly schemes."
Boris regarded her with his cold, hard glance. "Suppose I said that,
in that case, even La Belle Quero herself must disappear. What then?"
Tears came into the beautiful woman's eyes. She looked at him, more
compassionate than angry.
"Oh, Boris, have you sunk so low, have you let your ambitions overcome
all the softer impulses of your nature? Would you really murder me for
fear I should tell, and frustrate your schemes?"
She looked very beautiful as she appealed to him. For a moment the old
love for her, the old infatuation surged up in his heart. He clasped
her to his breast, and murmured softly the words: "Why are you not
heart and soul with me, as you used to be?"
She disengaged herself gently from his embrace; it no longer thrilled
her. "You are no longer the same to me, Boris," she whispered, with
the usual subterfuge of the woman. "You have had other loves besides
La Belle Quero."
"I do not admit that, Inez," he answered, in his rough, hard tones, a
little shaken by his emotion. "But remember, we are bound together by
solemn ties, by solemn oaths, to the same cause. Mark my words," he
added, with a sudden access of savagery. "If you play me false in that
respect, expect no mercy."
"If I play you false, Boris, I expect no mercy; I shall get none. I
know the manner of man you are."
"Yes, you know the sort of man I am, Inez. Pursue your little
flirtations, if you will. I shall not complain. But once play me false
in other matters, and your doom is sealed."
He strode out of the room, and the face of Madame Quero went white as
she remembered the threat. The Prince loved her in his rough, brutal
way, but if she interfered with his plans, he would brush her out of
his path with as little compunction as he would kill a fly that
annoyed him with its impertinent buzzing.
And then, in a few moments, her thoughts went back to the handsome
young Italian, Corsini. She had, in an unguarded moment, given him
away. Zouroff's slow, but unrelenting, vengeance would pursue him. The
Prince had said that Corsini must disappear. In this autocratic
country people disappeared every day, and nobody seemed to wonder. It
was such a common occurrence.
Next day Madame Quero, very disturbed, sought Corsini at his private
office at the Imperial Opera. Her object was to gain a little time
before Zouroff could put his evil designs into execution.
She approached him with her most winning smile.
"Signor, you reproached me for not having asked you to my villa. Will
you allow me to repair the omission? Will you sup with me,
_tete-a-tete_, on Thursday night?"
She had meant, in this intimate meeting, to give him a few hints as to
his personal safety without too closely inculpating Zouroff and his
associates, whom she still greatly feared.
Nello expressed a thousand regrets. After his duties at the Opera were
over, Prince Zouroff had requested his attendance at his Palace, as
Princess Nada had wished to again hear his rendering of the romance
which had now become celebrated.
The voice of the _prima donna_ grew agitated. She was very distrustful
of Boris and his ways.
"But, Signor Corsini, why go there when you know so well that the
Prince is quite indifferent to music? He does not care for any sort,
yours or mine."
Nello darted at her a shrewd glance. "I do not think myself, Madame,
that the Prince is a great connoisseur; but he is generally in his box
when you sing."
The beautiful Spanish woman blushed ever so slightly. "Ah, Signor, he
comes because I am the fashion. But all the same, I wish you would
not go."
Her manner was very insistent. Nello could see that she was greatly
agitated.
"Tell me, Madame. You have some reason for not wishing me to go?"
Madame Quero hesitated. She dared not tell the truth, that she feared
there was some sinister design on the part of the Prince. Had he not
said that Corsini must disappear? Her blood ran cold at the thought.
She relied on her woman's wiles. "Suppose," she whispered softly,
"that I told you I was very jealous of the Princess Nada. Would that
keep you away?"
Nello looked at her steadily. A few days ago her request might have
had some influence on him, but now he knew her for a traitress. She
was only seeking to trap him for her own ends. He was proof against
her. Golitzine had warned him.
"The Princess Nada is an old friend of mine, Madame. I have promised
to play that little romance for her whenever she wishes to hear it. I
cannot break my promise."
The blood of the Biscayan peasant surged wildly in her veins. "You are
a fool, Signor Corsini; you do not know your real friends, I assure
you."
Corsini assumed his most diplomatic manner. He bowed profoundly. "I
have made many friends in St. Petersburg, Madame, but I shall always
remember that you were one of the first and best."
"Always excepting Princess Nada," remarked the _prima donna_
spitefully.
"Ah, Madame, I met her first in London; I cannot tell you under what
tragic circumstances. Yes, to be quite frank, the Princess has a
little niche in my memory that nobody else can occupy. You will
forgive me?"
Madame Quero turned away from him scornfully, her warm Spanish blood
all aflame at the mention of her rival.
"Go then to your beautiful Princess, with her bloom of the lilies and
roses on her cheeks, and your fate be on your own head."
Corsini, in spite of his equable temperament, was a little disturbed
by the interview. Madame Quero had been very insistent that he should
not go to the Zouroff Palace. What was there behind this insistence?
He had pressed her closely as to her reasons, and she had led him to
understand she entertained an undefined jealousy of the Princess Nada.
In all probability that was the true explanation. Anyway, she would
give him none other.
He was very busy during the next day or two with the cares of
management--the directorship of the Imperial Opera was no light task.
He met the singer several times, but she still appeared to nourish
resentment.
Well, he could not help it. Wild horses would not have kept him
away from the Zouroff Palace, from the few minutes' glimpse of the
beautiful young Princess. The Thursday drew near, and his pulses
beat with pleasurable anticipation. If Madame Quero withdrew her
friendship from him, it would not break his heart; and if she was the
traitress that Golitzine assumed, her friendship was not worth having.
As for the woman herself, she was torn with conflicting emotions. At
one moment she hated him, at another she wept to think that he should
fall a victim to the machinations of the unscrupulous and unrelenting
Prince. And on the Wednesday, the day before the reception at the
Zouroff Palace, her softer feelings conquered.
She had seen the Prince the night before, and he had told her that he
was going into the country and would not return to St. Petersburg till
the midday of the Thursday.
She drove to the Zouroff Palace in the afternoon and sent up her card
to the Princess Nada. On it she had pencilled--"To see you on an
urgent matter."
The young Princess's maid, Katerina, who was devoted to her mistress,
brought in the card.
Nada read it, and she frowned. She was not at all conventional for a
girl of her rank and station, and she numbered many artists amongst
her friends. But she had heard of the reputation of La Belle Quero.
Rumours had reached her of the peculiar relations between the singer
and her brother, the Prince. Obviously, she was not the sort of woman
she could receive in a private capacity.
"Go down yourself, Katerina, to this person, and be perfectly civil,"
she enjoined her maid. "Explain to her as politely as possible that I
am not able to see any visitors to-day."
The young woman conveyed the cold, decisive message to the waiting
Madame Quero. A dull, red flush spread over the singer's face as she
recognised the reasons for the refusal to accord her an interview.
But she had not come unprepared for such a rebuff. "One moment, if you
please," she said, drawing forth a letter and handing it to the maid.
"Take this to your young mistress. I will wait till you return. I
fancy next time you will bring me a different answer."
The maid bowed and went back to the Princess. Nada tore the letter
open angrily. The woman was a trifle too insolent and persistent. Then
her angry mood passed as she mastered the brief contents.
"I regret very much to intrude upon you; I can quite guess that my
presence is not welcome. A great danger is threatening a certain
gentleman, Signor Corsini, for whom I believe you have some
friendship. You are the only person I can think of at the moment who
can avert that danger, especially as it is threatened by a member of
your own family. If you still persist in refusing to see me, please
seal up this letter and return it by your maid."
There was no longer any fear of refusal. Corsini threatened with
danger, and by a member of her own family, who could be none other
than Boris!
"Bring the lady to me at once, Katerina," she commanded the wondering
maid.
A moment later the two faced each other, the Princess standing in the
middle of the room, courteous but distantly polite, to receive her
unwelcome guest.
They looked at each other steadily, with dislike in their hearts, the
aristocrat of pure and ancient lineage, the woman who had played
barefoot in the gutter as a child, and won her way with her exquisite
talent to fame and fortune.
There was between them, at the start, the antagonism of class. But
there was also between them a still more subtle antagonism, recognised
by each: they had a mutual tenderness for the same man.