Doubtless that evening I was beautiful. During the supper party at the
Grand Hotel I felt that I diffused around me an atmosphere of more
subtle intoxication than the music or the wines. Placed between Vassili
and Stahl I laughed and laughed in a fever of rapturous gaiety. I was
excited and overwrought.
Bozevsky sat facing me. As I glanced at his proud, passionate face, I
said in my heart: "To-morrow you will see him no more. But this evening
he is here; you see him, pale for the love of you, thrilled by your
presence. Do not think of to-morrow. To-morrow is far away!"
So I laughed and laughed while the rhythmic charm of waltzes played on
muted strings wrought upon my senses, swaying me towards an unreal
world, a world of transcendent passion and incomparable joys.
Stahl, seated at my right hand, was flushed and elated, but still drew
the hurried sibilant breaths I had so often noticed in him. Vassili
seemed to have fallen in love with me anew. He murmured rapturous words
into my ear. "To-morrow you shall be mine, mine only, out of reach of
all others, beyond the sight and the desire of all these people--whose
necks I should like to wring." And he drank his Clicquot looking at me
with kindling eyes.
"Vassili," I whispered imploringly, "do not drink any more."
"Don't you wish me to?" he asked, turning to me with his glass of
champagne in his hand. "Don't you wish it? Well--there!" He flung the
glass full of blonde wine behind him over his shoulder. The thin crystal
chalice was shattered into a thousand pieces.
"What are you doing, Vassili? What are you doing?" cried Grigorievsky.
"Are you playing the King of Thule?"
"Precisely," laughed Vassili. "Was he not the paragon of all lovers, who
chose to die of thirst in order to follow his adored one to the grave?"
And somewhat uncertainly he quoted:
"Then did he fling his chalice
Into the surging main,
He watched it sink and vanish--
And never drank again."
"Here's to the King of Thule!" cried one of the guests. And they all
drank Vassili's health.
Bozevsky had sprung to his feet; his eyes gleamed strangely. "You may be
the King of Thule, Tarnowsky," he cried in a mocking tone, "but I am the
knight Olaf. You know the legend?" His clear insolent eyes surveyed the
guests provocatively. "Olaf--you remember--was condemned to death for
daring to love the king's daughter. He was at his last banquet. 'Take
heed, Olaf,' said the king. 'The headsman stands at the door!' 'Let him
stay there, sire, while I bid farewell to life in a last toast!' And
standing up--just as I stand here--he raised his glass, as I raise mine:
"I drink to the earth, I drink to the sky,
I drink to the sea and the shore;
I drink to the days that I have seen,
And the days I shall see no more;
I drink to the King who has sentenced me,
And the Headsman at the door.
"I bless the joys that I have had
And the joys that I have missed;
I bless the eyes that have smiled on me
And the lips that I have kissed!"
Here Bozevsky turned and looked straight at me:
"To _thy_ red lips that I have kissed
I raise this cup of wine,
I bless thy radiant loveliness
That made my life divine,
And I bless the hour that brings me death
For the hour that thou wert mine!"
He uttered these words in a loud voice, with his daring eyes fixed
steadily on mine; then he raised his glass and drained it.
Vassili had sprung to his feet. But instantly Stahl was beside him,
speaking rapidly, while Grigorievsky exclaimed:
"The sleighs are waiting. It is time to go home!"
Amid nervous and hurried farewells the perilous moment passed and the
danger was averted. We all hastened to our sleighs; my cousin Vera and
Madame Grigorievska were beside me; Stahl and Grigorievsky had each with
an air of easy friendliness taken my husband by the arm.
"Good-by! Good-by! _Bon voyage!_ Good-by!" The last farewells had been
exchanged. The impatient horses were shaking their bells in the icy
night air. Vera had already taken her place in the sleigh, and I was
about to step in beside her, when I saw Bozevsky striding rapidly
towards me. He passed in front of my husband, who was standing near the
second sleigh with Stahl and Grigorievsky, and came straight to me. He
stretched out his hand with a gesture of despair.
"So it is all over--all over!" he said. "And this is good-by!"
His voice broke, and he bent his fair head over my hand, crushing my
fingers in his feverish clasp.
At that instant the report of a shot rang out, followed by a mad
outburst of laughter from Vassili. I saw the horses of the sleigh plunge
and rear.
Bozevsky, still clasping my hand, wrenched himself upright; a convulsive
shiver passed through him, and his head jerked backwards with a strange,
wooden movement like that of a broken doll--then with a shrill burst of
laughter which showed all his teeth, he fell forward at my feet.
With a cry I bent over him, and I felt a splash of blood on my face. It
spurted forth like the jet of a fountain from the side of his neck. Once
again my hands, my dress were covered with his blood--I thought I was in
a dream. Every one had come rushing up. Now they raised him. I saw Stahl
snatch a white scarf from some one's shoulders and wind it round and
round the wounded neck, and immediately a dark stain appeared on the
scarf and slowly widened.
Supported by Stahl, Bozevsky stared about him with haggard eyes, until
his gaze met mine.
A quiver passed over his face. "I bless the hour--" he gasped. Then a
gush of blood came from his mouth, and he was silent.