"I believe," he continued in scornful tones, "that I am in a trap."
"A trap? What do you mean?" I gazed questioningly into his face.
"Yes, yes, a trap," said he with a cynical laugh. Then in a tone that
seemed in keeping with the frivolous atmosphere that surrounded us:
"Countess," he continued, "has it ever happened to you to go wrong in
some well-known quotation? To begin, for instance, with one author, and
to end with another?"
"I do not understand," I stammered, perplexed by the strangeness of his
manner. "What--what do you mean?"
Vassili was approaching, and Alexis with a scornful laugh raised his
voice slightly as he spoke. "Because to-night," he said, "a misquotation
of that kind keeps ringing through my brain. "_Ave, Maria!... Morituri
te salutant!_"
Vassili stood beside us and heard the words with a puzzled smile.
"_Morituri?_" he said, holding out his hand to Bozevsky with a frank and
friendly gesture. "_Morituri?_ Indeed I hope not."
Bozevsky took his hand and looked him in the face. Vassili returned his
gaze; then, with an impulsive gesture, in true Russian fashion, my
husband bent forward and kissed him on both cheeks.
No! no, it was not a trap! From the depths of my broken heart, from my
inmost consciousness, there springs up this protest on behalf of him who
on that fatal evening wrecked my life. I know that it was an impulse of
his fervent heart that impelled Vassili to open his arms to the man whom
an hour before he had hated--and whom an hour later he slew.
No; it was not a trap.