"THIS LITTLE HAND."
Late that same evening Tolskoi made his appearance at the Palace, in the
outer _salon_, where he found the usual gathering of officials and
_dames d'honneur_ with their invited guests. His reception was a
flattering one, and his return to the _beau-mondaine_ circles hailed
with acclamation.
The heavy curtains to the inner _salon_ were closely drawn, indicative
of the Tsar and Tsarina's desire to remain unmolested for the present.
The evening was very warm, and most of the long windows stood open, the
wind gently swaying the light draperies.
Beneath the casements the Neva crept by in slow rippling motion; the
moonlight falling athwart its grey opaqueness, woke here and there
sudden gleams of radiance. It struck also across the blank stone wall of
the Trubetskoi bastion, accentuating its grim outlines, and, shooting
far upwards, tipped the lance-like spire of Peter's Fortress with golden
fire.
The Countess Vera was the first to welcome Tolskoi, smiling up at him,
as she did so, and waving her great fan of scented lace to and fro
languidly.
"Oh, are you returned, _mon cher_? What a pleasure! And what a surprise
to _some one_! Oh, yes, she is here, and quite ravishingly beautiful.
For the moment she is with her Imperial Majesty. How hot it is, _mon
cher_, and what a cruelty that the Court regards no one's convenience,
save its own! One so longs to be flying westward."
"Is it so unsupportable?" replied Ivor in his clear youthful voice,
looking very handsome and young as he bent down towards the miniature
lady. "Upon my word, when I am near the Countess Vera, I lose all
sensation but one of supreme well-being."
"Ah, flatterer!" cried the little Countess, tapping him lightly on the
arm with her fan. "See, here she comes."
At that moment the velvet curtains at the far end of the grand _salon_
parted for a moment, to allow the egress of a tall slight figure, that
moved down the room with an almost regal grace, and whose white
draperies of soft lustreless silk swept after her in rhythmic curves.
It was Olga, and Ivor, as he beheld her after two months of separation,
felt his heart leap up in glad response to her beauty.
Indeed, never had she looked more beautiful. The grand curves of her
perfect figure, well defined by the low-cut bodice and falling laces of
her dress, her head, carried with all its imperial haughty grace,
crowned by the masses of her golden hair, her eyes so deep and wonderful
beneath the dark level brows, the "pomegranate flower" of her mouth
showing vividly against the colourless fairness of her complexion. She
wore a sapphire and diamond ornament upon her neck, and the rare stones
flashed and scintillated beneath her quick-coming breath.
Ivor stepped forward eagerly, his face flushed with the renewed ecstasy
of her presence, and bending low before her, murmured some inaudible
greeting. The Countess Vera watched them, a smile on her brilliant
little face.
Olga drew back, with an almost imperceptible movement, and with a sudden
dramatic gesture repelled, rather than welcomed, the young man. She had
not seen him since that day when at his thinly veiled allusions, and
suggestive words, all trust and belief in the truth and honesty of human
nature died within her. In that brief hour's drive it seemed to her she
had grown years older, and beyond that day she never looked.
With the melting of the snows of winter she had put from her whatever
of softness or leniency belonged to her girlhood; with her womanhood she
adopted the creed of her world, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a
tooth."
"Ah, Ivor," she exclaimed, controlling instantly both voice and manner,
and holding out her hand in greeting, "so you have come back. What an
eternity you have been away! Petersburg has been only half itself
without you."
She smiled as she spoke, and the charm of her smile counterbalanced the
indifference of her tones.
"Petersburg cannot have been so desolate without me, as I have been
without Petersburg," answered Tolskoi, gaily. "Is one permitted,
mademoiselle, to express one's admiration and pleasure in beholding you
so radiant and so--happy?"
"One is permitted always to speak one's mind in this age of
enlightenment," she replied, carelessly, though the meaning of Ivor's
question had not escaped her.
"And what news do you bring with you?" she continued, a little
hurriedly. "One is bored to extinction here, kept so late in town, and
with such a dearth of novelty that counting flies upon the wall becomes
an exciting pastime."
She had walked on as she spoke, separating herself from the Countess
Vera by a slight farewell gesture; Ivor kept pace at her side. When they
drew near one of the deep embrasured windows she stopped, and motioned
Ivor to the low cushioned seat beneath. But he refused to avail himself
of her invitation, preferring to stand at her side and look down upon
her. She sank languidly back upon the velvet cushions.
In the music gallery, at one end of the great _salon_, the Household
band were playing an arrangement of some of the wild, sad, national
airs. The strains floated to them across the rippling current of light
laughter and gay voices, like the under-chord of melancholy that runs
always side by side with the happier melodies of life's theme.
Ivor was the first to speak, and, as he did so, Olga turned her head
somewhat away from him.
"You ask me for news, mademoiselle; that is, indeed, somewhat singular.
How can I bring you news from my wild province which should prove of
interest to you? Let me rather ask that question. What do you hear from
Count Mellikoff, mademoiselle, and how prospers his mission?"
She did not reply at once, and Tolskoi, watching her averted face, saw
the jewels on her bosom rise with a sudden, quick, indrawn breath.
When she spoke it was with an almost exaggerated assumption of
carelessness.
"I hear nothing of, or from Count Mellikoff." Then, after a moment's
pause, "Are you more fortunate?"
"If you like to call it so. My latest intelligence is to the effect,
that having been successful beyond his expectations, he looks forward to
an immediate return, and to the reward he feels he has fairly earned."
"Ah!" she exclaimed, quickly, "you surprise me. And the woman--is she
found?"
"According to Count Mellikoff's despatches he does not doubt his soon
having her in his power," answered Ivor, slowly. "But as we know,
mademoiselle, there is considerable truth in the old saying about the
cup and the lip. Even Count Mellikoff may find himself mistaken."
"And you?" she asked, still with averted head, and in her assumed
careless voice. "May not you be mistaken? It would seem that this--this
woman--whom you say you saw, must after all, have been but a delusion of
your too ready imagination, since Count Mellikoff is so certain of his
success."
"No, I am not mistaken, mademoiselle," answered Ivor, gravely. "When
Count Mellikoff returns victorious, it will be my turn to win
distinction; and he who wins last wins best, you know. When that time
comes, Olga, _I_ shall claim my reward, and you will give it to me."
"Your reward?" she questioned, turning her face towards him at last, and
looking up straight into his eyes.
"Yes, my reward," he replied, "my reward, which will indeed have been
hardly won."
He stooped and lifted her hand. "This hand, Olga, this little slender
hand; that is what I shall claim, and that is what you will give to me."
She made him no answer, save to let her fingers lie passively in his.
Presently he bent and kissed them, then quietly putting her hand down,
he turned and walked from her.
When near the great doors he looked back. She was sitting as he had left
her, passive and unmoved, with the shadows cast by the lightly swaying
curtains half shielding her face, and the grey darkness of the starless
sky for a background.
Her hand lay as he had put it down, motionless upon her lap.