"There is only one Kharsanova. No one could see you dance and forget.
But why--why?"
"What else was possible?"
"You mean?"
She had spoken very simply. She was just as simple now.
"Oh! but you understand. You are of the world. A great dancer--she can
have lovers, yes--but a husband, that is different. And he--he did not
want the other. He wanted me to belong to him as--as Kharsanova could
never have belonged."
"I see," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "I see. So you gave it up?"
She nodded.
"You must have loved him very much," said Mr. Satterthwaite gently.
"To make such a sacrifice?" She laughed.
"Not quite that. To make it so light-heartedly."
"Ah! yes--perhaps--you are right."
"And now?" asked Mr. Satterthwaite.
Her face grew grave. "Now?" She paused, then raised her voice and spoke
into the shadows.
"Is that you, Sergius Ivanovitch?"
Prince Oranoff came out into the moonlight. He took her hand and smiled
at Mr. Satterthwaite without self-consciousness.
"Ten years ago I mourned the death of Anna Kharsanova," he said
simply. "She was to me as my other self. Today I have found her again.
We shall part no more."
"At the end of the lane in ten minutes," said Anna. "I shall not fail
you."
Oranoff nodded and went off again. The dancer turned to Mr.
Satterthwaite. A smile played about her lips.
"Well--you are not satisfied, my friend?"
"Do you know," said Mr. Satterthwaite abruptly, "that your husband is
looking for you?"
He saw the tremor that passed over her face, but her voice was steady
enough. "Yes," she said gravely. "That may well be."
"I saw his eyes. They--" He stopped abruptly.
She was still calm.
"Yes, perhaps. For an hour. An hour's magic, born of past memories, of
music, of moonlight. That is all."
"Then there is nothing that I can say?" He felt old, dispirited.
"For ten years I have lived with the man I love," said Anna Kharsanova.
"Now I am going to the man who for ten years has loved me."
Mr. Satterthwaite said nothing. He had no arguments left. Besides, it
really seemed the simplest solution. Only--
Only, somehow, it was not the solution he wanted. He felt her hand on
his shoulder.
"I know, my friend, I know. But there is no third way. Always one
looks for one thing--the lover, the perfect, the eternal lover. It is
the music of Harlequin one hears. No lover ever satisfies one, for
all lovers are mortal. And Harlequin is only a myth, an invisible
presence--unless--"
"Yes," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "Yes?"
"Unless--his name is--Death!"
Mr. Satterthwaite shivered. She moved away from him, was swallowed up
in the shadows.
He never knew quite how long he sat on there, but suddenly he started
up with the feeling that he had been wasting valuable time. He hurried
away, impelled in a certain direction almost in spite of himself.
As he came out into the lane he had a strange feeling of unreality.
Magic--magic and moonlight. And two figures coming toward him.
Oranoff in his Harlequin dress. So he thought at first. Then as they
passed him he knew his mistake. That lithe swaying figure belonged to
one person only--Mr. Quin.
They went on down the lane--their feet light as though they were
treading on air. Mr. Quin turned his head and looked back, and Mr.
Satterthwaite had a shock, for it was not the face of Mr. Quin as he
had ever seen it before. It was the face of a stranger--no, not quite a
stranger. Ah! he had it now, it was the face of John Denman as it might
have looked before life went too well with him! Eager, adventurous, the
face at once of a boy and of a lover.
Her laugh floated down to him, clear and happy.... He looked after them
and saw in the distance the lights of a little cottage. He gazed after
them like a man in a dream.
He was rudely awakened by a hand that fell on his shoulder and he
was jerked round to face Sergius Oranoff. The man looked white and
distracted.
"Where is she? Where is she? She promised--and she has not come."
"Madame has just gone up the lane--alone."
It was Mrs. Denman's maid who spoke from the shadow of the door behind
them. She had been waiting with her mistress's wraps.
"I was standing here and saw her pass," she added.
Mr. Satterthwaite threw one harsh word at her.
"Alone? Alone, did you say?"