inquiry and already forgetting the existence of the impudent youth.
"Yes, I'll come! What have you got for me?"
Count Kallash led her by the arm out of the crowd, which began to
disperse, abashed by his appearance and air of determination.
Presently he hailed a carriage, and putting the old woman in,
ordered the coachman to drive to his rooms.
There he did his best to make the miserable old woman comfortable,
and his housekeeper presently saw that she was washed and fed, and
soon the old woman was sleeping in the housekeeper's room.
To explain this extraordinary event we must go back twenty years.
In 1838 Princess Anna Chechevinski, then in her twenty-sixth year,
had defied her parents, thrown to the winds the traditions of her
princely race, and fled with the man of her choice, followed by her
mother's curses and the ironical congratulations of her brother,
who thus became sole heir.
After a year or two she was left alone by the death of her
companion, and step by step she learned all the lessons of sorrow.
From one stage of misfortune to another she gradually fell into the
deepest misery, and had become a poor old beggar in the streets
when Count Kallash came so unexpectedly to her rescue.
It will be remembered that, as a result of Natasha's act of
vengeance, the elder Princess Chechevinski left behind her only a
fraction of the money her son expected to inherit. And this
fraction he by no means hoarded, but with cynical disregard of the
future he poured money out like water, gambling, drinking, plunging
into every form of dissipation. Within a few months his entire
inheritance was squandered.
Several years earlier Prince Chechevinski had taken a deep interest
in conjuring and had devoted time and care to the study of various
forms of parlor magic. He had even paid considerable sums to
traveling conjurers in exchange for their secrets. Naturally
gifted, he had mastered some of the most difficult tricks, and his
skill in card conjuring would not have done discredit even to a
professional magician.
The evening when his capital had almost melted away and the shadow
of ruin lay heavy upon him, he happened to be present at a
reception where card play was going on and considerable sums were
staked.
A vacancy at one of the tables could not be filled, and, in spite
of his weak protest of unwillingness, Prince Chechevinski was
pressed into service. He won for the first few rounds, and then
began to lose, till the amount of his losses far exceeded the
slender remainder of his capital. A chance occurred where, by the
simple expedient of neutralizing the cut, mere child's play for one
so skilled in conjuring, he was able to turn the scale in his
favor, winning back in a single game all that he had already lost.
He had hesitated for a moment, feeling the abyss yawning beneath
him; then he had falsed, made the pass, and won the game. That
night he swore to himself that he would never cheat again, never
again be tempted to dishonor his birth; and he kept his oath till
his next run of bad luck, when he once more neutralized the cut and
turned the "luck" in his direction.
The result was almost a certainty from the outset, Prince
Chechevinski became a habitual card sharper.
For a long time fortune favored him. His mother's reputation for
wealth, the knowledge that he was her sole heir, the high position
of the family, shielded him from suspicion. Then came the
thunderclap. He was caught in the act of "dealing a second" in the
English Club, and driven from the club as a blackleg. Other
reverses followed: a public refusal on the part of an officer to
play cards with him, followed by a like refusal to give him
satisfaction in a duel; a second occasion in which he was caught
redhanded; a criminal trial; six years in Siberia. After two years
he escaped by way of the Chinese frontier, and months after
returned to Europe. For two years he practiced his skill at
Constantinople. Then he made his way to Buda-Pesth, then to
Vienna. While in the dual monarchy, he had come across a poverty-
stricken Magyar noble, named Kallash, whom he had sheltered in a
fit of generous pity, and who had died in his room at the Golden
Eagle Inn. Prince Chechevinski, who had already borne many
aliases, showed his grief at the old Magyar's death by adopting his
name and title; hence it was that he presented himself in St.
Petersburg in the season of 1858 under the high-sounding title of
Count Kallash.
An extraordinary coincidence, already described, had brought him
face to face with his sister Anna, whom he had never even heard of
in all the years since her flight. He found her now, poverty-
stricken, prematurely old, almost demented, and, though he had
hated her cordially in days gone by, his pity was aroused by her
wretchedness, and he took her to his home, clothed and fed her, and
surrounded her with such comforts as his bachelor apartment
offered.
In the days that followed, every doubt he might have had as to her
identity was dispelled. She talked freely of their early
childhood, of their father's death, of their mother; she even spoke
of her brother's coldness and hostility in terms which drove away
the last shadow of doubt whether she was really his sister. But at
first he made no corresponding revelations, remaining for her only
Count Kallash.
XI
THE PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM
Little by little, however, as the poor old woman recovered
something of health and strength, his heart went out toward her.
Telling her only certain incidents of his life, he gradually
brought the narrative back to the period, twenty years before,
immediately after their mother's death, and at last revealed
himself to his sister, after making her promise secrecy as to his
true name. Thus matters went on for nearly two years.
The broken-down old woman lived in his rooms in something like
comfort, and took pleasure in dusting and arranging his things.
One day, when she was tidying the sitting room, her brother was
startled by a sudden exclamation, almost a cry, which broke from
his sister's lips.
"Oh, heaven, it is she!" she cried, her eyes fixed on a page of the
photograph album she had been dusting. "Brother, come here; for
heaven's sake, who is this?"
"Baroness von Doring," curtly answered Kallash, glancing quickly at
the photograph. "What do you find interesting in her?"
"It is either she or her double! Do you know who she looks like?"
"Lord only knows! Herself, perhaps!"
"No, she has a double! I am sure of it! Do you remember, at
mother's, my maid Natasha?"
"Natasha?" the count considered, knitting his brows in the effort
to recollect.
"Yes, Natasha, my maid. A tall, fair girl. A thick tress of
chestnut hair. She had such beautiful hair! And her lips had just
the same proud expression. Her eyes were piercing and intelligent,
her brows were clearly marked and joined together--in a word, the
very original of this photograph!"
"Ah," slowly and quietly commented the count, pressing his hand to
his brow. "Exactly. Now I remember! Yes, it is a striking
likeness."
"But look closely," cried the old woman excitedly; "it is the
living image of Natasha! Of course she is more matured, completely
developed. How old is the baroness?"
"She must be approaching forty. But she doesn't look her age; you
would imagine her to be about thirty-two from her appearance.
"There! And Natasha would be just forty by now!"
"The ages correspond," answered her brother.
"Yes." Princess Anna sighed sadly. "Twenty-two years have passed
since then. But if I met her face to face I think I would
recognize her at once. Tell me, who is she?"
"The baroness? How shall I tell you? She has been abroad for
twenty years, and for the last two years she has lived here. In
society she says she is a foreigner, but with me she is franker,
and I know that she speaks Russian perfectly. She declares that
her husband is somewhere in Germany, and that she lives here with
her brother."
"Who is the 'brother'?" asked the old princess curiously.
"The deuce knows! He is also a bit shady. Oh, yes! Sergei
Kovroff knows him; he told me something about their history; he
came here with a forged passport, under the name of Vladislav
Karozitch, but his real name is Kasimir Bodlevski."
"Kasimir Bodlevski," muttered the old woman, knitting her brows.
"Was he not once a lithographer or an engraver, or something of the
sort?"
"I think he was. I think Kovroff said something about it. He is a
fine engraver still."
"He was? Well, there you are!" and Princess Anna rose quickly from
her seat. "It is she--it is Natasha! She used to tell me she had
a sweetheart, a Polish hero, Bodlevski. And I think his name was
Kasimir. She often got my permission to slip out to visit him; she
said he worked for a lithographer, and always begged me to persuade
mother to liberate her from serfdom, so that she could marry him."
This unexpected discovery meant much to Kallash. Circumstances,
hitherto slight and isolated, suddenly gained a new meaning, and
were lit up in a way that made him almost certain of the truth. He
now remembered that Kovroff had once told him of his first
acquaintance with Bodlevski, when he came on the Pole at the Cave,
arranging for a false passport; he remembered that Natasha had
disappeared immediately before the death of the elder Princess
Chechevinski, and he also remembered how, returning from the
cemetery, he had been cruelly disappointed in his expectations when
he had found in the strong box a sum very much smaller than he had
always counted on, and with some foundation; and before him, with
almost complete certainty, appeared the conclusion that the maid's
disappearance was connected with the theft of his mother's money,
and especially of the securities in his sister's name, and that all
this was nothing but the doing of Natasha and her companion
Bodlevski.
"Very good! Perhaps this information will come in handy!" he said
to himself, thinking over his future measures and plans. "Let us
see--let us feel our way--perhaps it is really so! But I must go
carefully and keep on my guard, and the whole thing is in my hands,
dear baroness! We will spin a thread from you before all is over."
XII
THE BARONESS AT HOME
Every Wednesday Baroness von Doring received her intimate friends.
She did not care for rivals, and therefore ladies were not invited
to these evenings. The intimate circle of the baroness consisted
of our Knights of Industry and the "pigeons" of the bureaucracy,
the world of finance, the aristocracy, which were the objects of
the knights' desires. It often happened, however, that the number
of guests at these intimate evenings went as high as fifty, and
sometimes even more.
The baroness was passionately fond of games of chance, and always
sat down to the card table with enthusiasm. But as this was done
conspicuously, in sight of all her guests, the latter could not
fail to note that fortune obstinately turned away from the
baroness. She almost never won on the green cloth; sometimes
Kovroff won, sometimes Kallash, sometimes Karozitch, but with the
slight difference that the last won more seldom and less than the
other two.
Thus every Wednesday a considerable sum found its way from the
pocketbook of the baroness into that of one of her colleagues, to
find its way back again the next morning. The purpose of this
clever scheme was that the "pigeons" who visited the luxurious
salons of the baroness, and whose money paid the expenses of these
salons, should not have the smallest grounds for suspicion that the
dear baroness's apartment was nothing but a den of sharpers. Her
guests all considered her charming, to begin with, and also rich
and independent and passionate by nature. This explained her love
of play and the excitement it brought, and which she would not give
up, in spite of her repeated heavy losses.
Her colleagues, the Knights of Industry, acted on a carefully
devised and rigidly followed plan. They were far from putting
their uncanny skill in motion every Wednesday. So long as they had
no big game in sight, the game remained clean and honest. In this
way the band might lose two or three thousand rubles, but such a
loss had no great importance, and was soon made up when some fat
"pigeon" appeared.
It sometimes happened that this wily scheme of honest play went on
for five or six weeks in succession, so that the small fry, winning
the band's money, remained entirely convinced that it was playing
in an honorable and respectable private house, and very naturally
spread abroad the fame of it throughout the whole city. But when
the fat pigeon at last appeared, the band put forth all its forces,
all the wiles of the black art, and in a few hours made up for the
generous losses of a month of honorable and irreproachable play on
the green cloth.
Midnight was approaching.
The baroness's rooms were brilliantly lit up, but, thanks to the
thick curtains which covered the windows, the lights could not be
seen from the street, though several carriages were drawn up along
the sidewalk.
Opening into the elegant drawing-room was a not less elegant card
room, appreciatively nicknamed the Inferno by the band. In it
stood a large table with a green cloth, on which lay a heap of bank
notes and two little piles of gold, before which sat Sergei
Antonovitch Kovroff, presiding over the bank with the composure of
a true gentleman.
What Homeric, Jovine calm rested on every feature of his face!
What charming, fearless self-assurance, what noble self-confidence
in his smile, in his glance! What grace, what distinction in his
pose, and especially in the hand which dealt the cards! Sergei
Kovroff's hands were decidedly worthy of attention. They were
almost always clad in new gloves, which he only took off on special
occasions, at dinner, or when he had some writing to do, or when he
sat down to a game of cards. As a result, his hands were almost
feminine in their delicacy, the sensibility of the finger tips had
reached an extraordinary degree of development, equal to that of
one born blind. And those fingers were skillful, adroit, alert,
their every movement carried out with that smooth, indefinable
grace which is almost always possessed by the really high-class
card sharper. His fingers were adorned with numerous rings, in
which sparkled diamonds and other precious stones. And it was not
for nothing that Sergei Kovroff took pride in them! This glitter
of diamonds, scattering rainbow rays, dazzled the eyes of his
fellow players. When Sergei Kovroff sat down to preside over the
bank, the sparkling of the diamonds admirably masked those motions
of his fingers which needed to be masked; they almost insensibly
drew away the eyes of the players from his fingers, and this was
most of all what Sergei Kovroff desired.
Round the table about thirty guests were gathered. Some of them
sat, but most of them played standing, with anxious faces,
feverishly sparkling eyes, and breathing heavily and unevenly.
Some were pale, some flushed, and all watched with passionate
eagerness the fall of the cards. There were also some who had
perfect command of themselves, distinguished by extraordinary
coolness, and jesting lightly whether they lost or won. But such
happily constituted natures are always a minority when high play is
going on.
Silence reigned in the Inferno. There was almost no conversation;
only once in a while was heard a remark, in a whisper or an
undertone, addressed by a player to his neighbor; the only sound
was that short, dry rustle of the cards and the crackling of new
bank notes, or the tinkle of gold coins making their way round the
table from the bank to the players, and from the players back to
the bank.
The two Princes Shadursky, father and son, both lost heavily. They
sat opposite Sergei Kovroff, and between them sat Baroness von
Doring, who played in alliance with them. The clever Natasha egged
them on, kindling their excitement with all the skill and
calculation possible to one whose blood was as cold as the blood of
a fish, and both the Shadurskys had lost their heads, no longer
knowing how much they were losing.
XIII
AN EXPLANATION
Count Kallash and his sister had just breakfasted when the count's
French footman entered the study.
"Madame la baronne von Doring!" he announced obsequiously.
Brother and sister exchanged a rapid glance.
"Now is our opportunity to make sure," said Kallash, with a smile.
"If it is she, I shall recognize her by her voice," whispered
Princess Anna. "Shall I remain here or go?"
"Remain in the meantime; it will be a curious experience. Faites
entrer!" he added to the footman.
A moment later light, rapid footsteps were heard in the entrance
hall, and the rustling of a silk skirt.
"How do you do, count! I have come to see you for a moment. I
came in all haste, on purpose. I have come IN PERSON, you must be
duly appreciative! Vladislav is too busy, and the matter is an
important one. I wanted to see you at the earliest opportunity.
Well, we may all congratulate ourselves. Fate and fortune are
decidedly on our side!" said the baroness, speaking rapidly, as she
entered the count's study.
"What has happened? What is the news?" asked the count, going
forward to meet her.
"We have learned that the Shadurskys have just received a large sum
of money; they have sold an estate, and the purchaser has paid them
in cash. Our opportunity has come. Heaven forbid that we should
lose it! We must devise a plan to make the most of it."
The baroness suddenly stopped short in the middle of the sentence,
and became greatly confused, noticing that there was a third person
present.
"Forgive me! I did not give you warning," said the count,
shrugging his shoulders and smiling; "permit me! PRINCESS ANNA
CHECHEVINSKI!" he continued with emphasis, indicating his poor,
decrepit sister. "Of course you would not have recognized her,
baroness."
"But I recognized Natasha immediately," said the old woman quietly,
her eyes still fixed on Natasha's face.
The baroness suddenly turned as white as a sheet, and with
trembling hands caught the back of a heavy armchair.
Kallash with extreme politeness assisted her to a seat.
"You didn't expect to meet me, Natasha?" said the old woman gently
and almost caressingly, approaching her.
"I do not know you. Who are you?" the baroness managed to whisper,
by a supreme effort.
"No wonder; I am so changed," replied Princess Anna. "But YOU are
just the same. There is hardly any change at all."
Natasha began to recover her composure.
"I don't understand you," she said coldly, contracting her brows.
"But I understand YOU perfectly."
"Allow me, princess," Kallash interrupted her, "permit me to have
an explanation with the baroness; she and I know each other well.
And if you will pardon me, I shall ask you in the meantime to
withdraw."
And he courteously conducted his sister to the massive oak doors,
which closed solidly after her.
"What does this mean?" said the baroness, rising angrily, her gray
eyes flashing at the count from under her broad brows.
"A coincidence," answered Kallash, shrugging his shoulders with an
ironical smile.
"How a coincidence? Speak clearly!"
"The former mistress has recognized her former maid--that is all."
"How does this woman come to be here? Who is she?"
"I have told you already; Princess Anna Chechevinski. And as to
how she came here, that was also a coincidence, and a strange one."
"Impossible!" exclaimed the baroness.
"Why impossible? They say the dead sometimes return from the tomb,
and the princess is still alive. And why should the matter not
have happened thus, for instance? Princess Anna Chechevinski's
maid Natasha took advantage of the confidence and illness of the
elder princess to steal from her strong box, with the aid of her
sweetheart, Kasimir Bodlevski, money and securities--mark this,
baroness--securities in the name of Princess Anna. And might it
not happen that this same lithographer Bodlevski should get false
passports at the Cave, for himself and his sweetheart, and flee
with her across the frontier, and might not this same maid, twenty
years later, return to Russia under the name of Baroness von
Doring? You must admit that there is nothing fantastic in all
this! What is the use of concealing? You see I know everything!"
"And what follows from all this?" replied the baroness with a
forced smile of contempt.
"Much MAY follow from it," significantly but quietly replied
Kallash. "But at present the only important matter is, that I know
all. I repeat it--ALL."
"Where are your facts?" asked the baroness.
"Facts? Hm!" laughed Kallash. "If facts are needed, they will be
forthcoming. Believe me, dear baroness, that if I had not legally
sufficient facts in my hands, I would not have spoken to you of
this."
Kallash lied, but lied with the most complete appearance of
probability.
The baroness again grew confused and turned white.
"Where are your facts? Put them in my hands!" she said at last,
after a prolonged silence.
"Oh, this is too much! Get hold of them yourself!" the count
replied, with the same smile. "The facts are generally set forth
to the prisoner by the court; but it is enough for you in the
meantime to know that the facts exist, and that they are in my
possession. Believe, if you wish. If you do not wish, do not
believe. I will neither persuade you nor dissuade you."
"And this means that I am in your power?" she said slowly, raising
her piercing glance to his face.
"Yes; it means that you are in my power," quietly and confidently
answered Count Kallash.
"But you forget that you and I are in the same boat."
"You mean that I am a sharper, like you and Bodlevski? Well, you
are right. We are all berries of the same bunch--except HER" (and
he indicated the folding doors). "She, thanks to many things, has
tasted misery, but she is honest. But we are all rascals, and I
first of all. You are perfectly right in that. If you wish to get
me in your power--try to find some facts against me. Then we shall
be quits!"
"And what is it you wish?"
"It is too late for justice, at least so far as she is concerned,"
replied the count, with a touch of sadness; "but it is not too late
for a measure of reparation. But we can discuss that later," he
went on more lightly, as if throwing aside the heavy impression
produced by the thought of Princess Anna's misery. "And now, dear
baroness, let us return to business, the business of Prince
Shadursky! I will think the matter over, and see whether anything
suggests itself."
He courteously conducted the baroness to the carriage, and they
parted, to all appearance, friends. But there were dangerous
elements for both in that seeming friendship.
XIV
GOLD MINING
A wonderful scheme was hatched in Count Kallash's fertile brain.
Inspired by the thought of Prince Shadursky's newly replenished
millions, he devised a plan for the gang which promised brilliant
results, and only needed the aid of a discreet and skillful
confederate. And what confederate could be more trustworthy than
Sergei Antonovitch Kovroff? So the two friends were presently to
be found in secret consultation in the count's handsome study, with
a bottle of good Rhine wine before them, fine cigars between their
lips, and the memory of a well-served breakfast lingering
pleasantly in their minds. They were talking about the new
resources of the Shadurskys.
"To take their money at cards--what a wretched business--and so
infernally commonplace," said Count Kallash. "To tell you the
truth, I have for a long time been sick of cards! And, besides,
time is money! Why should we waste several weeks, or even months,
over something that could be done in a few days?"
Kovroff agreed completely, but at the same time put the question,
if not cards, what plan was available?
"That is it exactly!" cried Kallash, warming up. "I have thought
it all over. The problem is this: we must think up something that
would surprise Satan himself, something that would make all Hades
smile and blow us hot kisses. But what of Hades?--that's all
nonsense. We must do something that will make the whole Golden
Band throw up their caps. That is what we have to do!"
"Quite a problem," lazily answered Kovroff, chewing the end of his
cigar. "But you are asking too much."