It was only a saucy little page-boy in red uniform.
"If you please, Count Kamarowsky sends word that he is waiting for you."
"Say that I shall be down directly."
"No," contradicted Prilukoff; "send word that you are not going down."
"But then he will come here."
"You will say that you cannot receive him."
And that was what took place. And not on that evening only. Prilukoff
installed himself, during long days and evenings, in my apartments, and
refused to go away. Very often he did not even allow me to go out of the
room.
Then came Count Kamarowsky knocking at the door.
"No! no! You cannot come in!" cried Elise Perrier, pale and trembling,
leaning against the locked door.
"But why? Why? What has happened?"
"Nothing has happened. Madame is not feeling well," Elise would reply,
in quavering tones.
"But that is all the more reason why I should see her," protested the
Count. "I must see her!"
"It is impossible!" And Elise, whom fear rendered well-nigh voiceless,
would roll towards me her round, despairing eyes.
Then the Count would speak to me through the closed door, entreating and
arguing; and every time he used a tender expression Prilukoff, who held
me fast, pinched my arm.
"Mura, Mura, let me in. Let me see you for a moment. You know how I love
you (pinch); it is cruel to lock me out as if I were a stranger. If you
are ill let me take care of you, with all my tenderness (pinch), with
all my love (pinch)--"
In feeble accents I would reply: "Forgive me--I shall soon be better--do
not trouble about me."
"But what is the matter? Why do you not want to see me? Do you not love
me any more?"
"Oh, yes, I love--(pinch). Please, please go away. I shall come down as
soon as I can."
Then I could hear his slowly retreating footsteps, while Prilukoff
glared at me and, on general principles, pinched my arm again.
It was with the greatest difficulty that I could conceal Prilukoff's
presence from little Tioka.
One day the child caught sight of him seated on the terrace, and, with a
wild cry of delight, started to run towards him. I caught him in my
arms. "No, darling, no! That is not Prilukoff. It is some one very much
like him; but it is not our friend."
And as the man, with scowling countenance, was gazing out at the sea,
and paid no heed to us, Tioka believed me, and, with a little sigh of
regret, ran in search of his playmate Grania.
The life Prilukoff led me in this grotesque and unbearable situation is
impossible to describe. My days were passed in an agony of terror. When
I dined with Kamarowsky, Prilukoff invariably took a seat at the next
table, and I might almost say that it was he who regulated our
conversation. If any subject were raised that was distasteful to him--my
approaching marriage to Kamarowsky, for instance, or some tender
reminiscence which my betrothed loved to recall--Prilukoff, at the
adjoining table, made savage gestures which terrified me and attracted
the attention of all the other guests. He would shake his fists at me,
glare at me with terrible eyes, and, if I pretended not to notice him,
he upset the cruet-stand or dropped his knife and fork noisily to
attract my attention. He would stare at the unconscious, slightly bald
head of Kamarowsky, and imitate his gestures with a demoniacal grin.
The guests of the hotel thought him insane, and he certainly behaved as
if he were. I myself have often thought: "Surely he is a madman!" when I
came upon him suddenly, hidden behind the curtains in my sitting-room,
or crouching in a dark corner, or lying on my bed smoking cigarettes. I
felt that my nerves and my reason were giving way.
"What do you want of me, you cruel man?" I sobbed. "What am I to do? Do
you wish me to tell everything to Kamarowsky? To break off the marriage
and return to Moscow with you?"
"We cannot return to Moscow, and you know it," growled Prilukoff.
"Somewhere else, then. Anywhere! I will go wherever you like, I will do
whatever you like. Anything, anything, rather than endure this torture
any longer."
"For the present we stay here," declared Prilukoff, who seemed to enjoy
my anguish. "And as for the future," he added, rolling his terrible
eyes, "you can leave that to me."
Sometimes he forbade me to go out with Kamarowsky. At other times he
followed us in the streets, torturing me behind the unconscious back of
my betrothed, who marveled and grieved at my extraordinary and
frequently absurd behavior.
Early one morning, as I looked out of my window, I saw Kamarowsky
standing on the terrace, gazing thoughtfully out at the sea. I ran down
to him. We were alone. "Paul," I whispered hurriedly, "let us go away
from here; let us leave quietly, to-day, without saying a word to any
one."
He laughed. "What a romantic idea! Do you not like this place? Are you
not happy here?"
"No, Paul, no! There is some one spying upon me."
"Spying upon you?" he repeated, greatly astonished. "Is that the reason
of your strange behavior?"
"Yes, yes, but do not ask me any more questions."
"Who is it? I must know who it is."
"No, Paul. I will tell you later on. Hush!"
"You are a fanciful creature," he said, laughing and patting my cheek.
[Illustration: COUNT PAUL KAMAROWSKY]
I felt hurt at his calm acceptance of what I had told him, and wondered
that he did not insist upon knowing more. I reflected in my folly that
if he really loved me he ought to have been less satisfied and secure. I
did not understand--alas! I never understood--his guileless and noble
trust in me. The insensate and exacting passion of others who until now
had dominated my life had spoiled me for all normal affection.
Hypersensitive and overwrought, I myself suffered unless I caused
suffering to those I loved; nor did I ever feel sure of their love
unless they doubted mine.
The love that varies not from day to day,
A tranquil love, unruffled and serene--
was not the love I knew. My storm-tossed heart did not recognize it.
Neither on that day nor ever could I bring myself to believe that Paul
Kamarowsky really loved me.
During those few moments that we were alone together on the terrace, we
arranged that I should start with Tioka and Elise that very evening,
during the dinner hour, leaving all our trunks behind us for my
betrothed to see to after we had left. He could join us three days later
in Vienna, and then we should all proceed to Orel, where important
affairs claimed his presence.
Half-way through dinner, as had been arranged (and as usual Prilukoff
sat at a table next to ours), Elise entered the dining-room timidly and
came to our table.
"I beg your ladyship's pardon. Master Tioka is outside and wishes to say
good-night."
"Bring Master Tioka in," I said, trying to speak naturally and raising
my voice a little so that Prilukoff should hear.
"I am sorry, my lady, but he refuses to come," and Elise hung her head
as she spoke these words; the treason we were perpetrating on Lohengrin
grieved her even more than the tortures that Lohengrin had inflicted
upon me.
"Pray excuse me a moment," I said to Count Kamarowsky, and rose from the
table. "I shall be back at once."
No sooner was I outside the dining-room than Elise threw my traveling
cloak round me. A motor-car was throbbing at the door, and in it with
beaming face sat Tioka surrounded by our hand-bags and dressing-cases,
shawls and hats.
"What are we doing?" he cried gleefully. "Are we running away?"
"Yes, darling," and I clasped him to my heart, as I sank into the seat
beside him. The motor was already gliding through the twilight roads
towards Cannes.
"But why? Why are we running away? Have we stolen something?"
At those words my heart stopped beating. I suddenly remembered
Prilukoff's ill-gotten banknotes.
"Elise!" I gasped; "in the desk in my sitting-room--there was some
money."
"Yes, madame."
"What did you do with it?"
"It is quite safe, madame. I have taken it."
"_You have taken it!_"
"Yes, madame. Here it is." And with satisfied hand Elise patted a black
leather satchel that lay in her lap.
With a sob I hid my face in my hands.
Indeed, we had stolen something!