Books: His Hour
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Elinor Glyn >> His Hour
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CHAPTER XIII
It was perhaps a fortunate thing that for three days after this the
Prince was kept at his military duties at Tsarsköi-Sélo, and could not
come to Petersburg, for he was in a mood that could easily mean
mischief. Tamara also was inclined to take things in no docile spirit.
She felt very unhappy, underneath her gay exterior. It was not
agreeable to her self-respect to realize she was fleeing from a place
because she loved a man whose actions showed he did not entertain the
same degree of feeling for her. No amount of attention from any other
quite salved that ever-constant inward hurt.
She went often through strange moments. In the middle of a casual
conversation suddenly back would come a wave of remembrance of the dawn
drive in the troika, and she would actually quiver with physical
emotion as the vivid recollection of the bliss of it would sweep over
her.
Then she would clench her hands and determine more fiercely than ever
to banish such memories. But with all her will, hardly for ten minutes
at a time could she keep Gritzko from her thoughts. His influence over
her was growing into an obsession.
She wondered why he did not come. She would not ask her godmother. The
three days passed in a feverish, gnawing unrest; and on the third
evening they went to the ballet again.
Opposite them, in a box, a very dark young woman was seated. She had a
hard, determined face, and she was well dressed, and not too covered
with jewels.
"That is a celebrated lady," Count Valonne said. "You must look at her,
Madame Loraine; she was one of the best dancers at the ballet, and last
year she tried to commit suicide in a charmingly dramatic way at one of
Gritzko's parties. She was at the time perhaps his _chère amie_--
one never knows, but in all cases violently in love with him--and is
still, for the matter of that--or so it is said--and in the middle of
rather a wild feast he was giving for her, she suddenly drank off some
poison, after making the terrifying announcement of her intention! We
were all petrified with horror, but he remained quite calm, and,
seizing her, he poured a whole bottle of salad oil down her throat, and
then sent for a doctor!--Of course the poor lady recovered, and the
romantic end was quite _raté!_--She was perfectly furious, one
heard--and married a rich slate merchant the week after. Wasn't it like
Gritzko? He said the affair was vulgar, and he sent her a large diamond
bracelet, and never spoke to her again!"
Tamara felt her cheeks burn--and her pride galled her more than ever.
So she and the ex-dancer were in the same boat?--but she at least would
not try to commit suicide and be restored by--salad oil!
"How perfectly ridiculous!" she said, with rather a bitter little
laugh. "What complete bathos!"
"It was unfortunate, was it not?" Valonne went on, and he glanced at
Tamara sideways.
He guessed that she was interested in the Prince; but Valonne was a
charming creature with an understanding eye, and in their set was in
great request. He knew exactly the right thing to talk about to each
different person, as a perfect diplomat should, and he was too tactful
and sympathetic to tease poor Tamara. On the contrary, he told her
casually that Gritzko had been on some duty these three days, in case
she did not know it.
From the beginning Tamara always had liked Valonne.
Then into the box came the same good-looking Chevalier Garde, Count
Varishkine, whom she had talked to on the last occasion of Gritzko's
visit, and the spirit of hurt pride caused her to be most gracious with
him. Meanwhile the Princess Ardácheff watched her with a faint
sensation of uneasiness, and at last whispered to Stephen Strong:
"Does not my godchild seem to be developing new characteristics,
Stephen? She is so very stately and quiet; and yet to-night it would
almost seem she is being flirtatious with Boris Varishkine.--I trust we
shall have no complications. What do you think?"
Mr. Strong laughed.
"It will depend upon how much it angers Gritzko. It could come to mean
anything--bloodshed, a scandal, or merely bringing things to a crisis
between them.--Let us hope, for the latter."
"Indeed, yes"
"You must remember, for an Englishwoman it would be very difficult to
grasp all the possibilities in the character of Gritzko. We are not
accustomed to these tempestuous headlong natures in our calm country."
"Fortunately Boris and Gritzko are very great friends."
"I never heard that the warmest friendship prevented jealousy between
men," Stephen Strong said, a little cynically--he had suffered a good
deal in his youth.
"I am delighted we are going to Moscow. There will be no Boris, and I
shall arrange for my two children to be together as much as possible. I
feel that is the surest way," the Princess answered; and they talked of
other things.
After the ballet was over the party went on to supper at Cubat's in a
private room, contrary to the Princess' custom. But it was Stephen
Strong's entertainment, and he had no house to invite them to.
As they passed down the passage to their salon the door of another
opened as a waiter came out, and loud laughter and clatter of glass
burst forth, and above the din one shrill girl's treble screamed:
"Gritzko! Oh, Gritzko!"
The food nearly choked Tamara when they reached their room, and supper
began. It was not, of course, a heinous crime for the Prince to be
entertaining ladies of another world. But on the top of everything else
it raised a wild revolt in her heart, and a raging disgust with
herself. Never, never should she unbend to him again. She _would
not_ love him.
Alas! for the impotency of human wills! Only the demonstrations of love
can be controlled, the emotion itself comes from heaven--or hell, and
is omnipotent. Poor Tamara might as well have determined to keep the
sun from rising as to keep herself from loving Gritzko.
She was quite aware that men--even the nicest men--like Jack and her
brother Tom, sometimes went out with people she would not care to know;
but to have the fact brought under her very observation disgusted her
fine senses. To realize that the man she loved was at the moment
perhaps kissing some ordinary woman, revolted and galled her
immeasurably. But if she had known it this night, at least, the Prince
was innocent. He had strolled into that room with some brother
officers, and was not the giver of the feast. And a few minutes after
Mr. Strong's party had begun their repast he opened the door.
"May I come in, Stephen?" he asked. "I heard you were all here, Serge
saw you. I have just arrived from Tsarsköi, and must eat."
And of course he was warmly welcomed and pressed to take a seat, while
Valonne chaffed him in an undertone about the joys he had precipitately
left.
Tamara's face was the picture of disdain. But the Prince sat beside her
godmother, apparently unconcerned. He did not trouble to address her
specially, and before the end of supper, in spite of rage and disgust
and anger--and shame, she was longing for him to talk to her.
The only consolation she had was once when they went out, as she looked
up sweetly at Count Varishkine she caught a fierce expression stealing
over Gritzko's face.
So even though he did not love her really he could still feel jealous;
that was something, at all events!
Thus in these paltry rages and irritations, these two human beings
passed the next three days--when their real souls were capable of
something great.
Prince Milaslávski, to every one's surprise, appeared continuously in
the world.
Tamara and the Princess met him everywhere, and while the Princess did
her best to throw them together, Tamara maneuvered so that not once
could he speak to her alone, while she was assiduously charming to
every one else. Now it was old Prince Miklefski or Stephen Strong, now
one of the husbands, or Jack, and just often enough to give things a
zest she was bewitching to the handsome Chevalier Garde.
And the strange, fierce light in Gritzko's eyes did not decrease.
The night before the Ardácheff ball they were going to a reception at
one of the Embassies for a foreign King and Queen, who were paying a
visit to the Court, and Tamara dressed with unusual care, and fastened
her high tiara in her soft brown hair.
The Prince should see her especially attractive, she thought.
But when they arrived at the great house and walked among the brilliant
throng no Prince was to be seen!--It might be he had no intention to
come.
Presently Tamara went off to the refreshment room with her friend
Valonne.
The conversation turned to Gritzko with an easy swing.
He seemed on the brink of one of his maddest fits. Valonne had seen him
in the club just before dinner.
"If you really go to England I think he will follow you, Madame," he
said.
"How ridiculous!" and Tamara laughed. "How can it make a difference to
him whether I go or no? We do not exist for one another," and she
fanned herself rather rapidly, while Valonne smiled a fine smile.
"I should not be quite sure of that," he said. "If I might predict, I
should say you will be lucky if you get away from here without being
the cause of a duel of some sort."
"A duel!" Tamara was startled. "How dreadful, and how silly! But why? I
thought dueling had quite gone out in all civilized countries; and in
any case, why fight about me? And who should fight? Surely you are only
teasing me, Count Valonne."
"Duels are real facts here, I am afraid," he said. "Gritzko has already
engaged in two of them. He is not quarrelsome, but just never permits
any one to cross his wishes or interfere with his game."
"But what _is_ his game? You speak as though it were some kind of
cards or plot. What do you mean?" and Tamara, with heightened color,
lifted her head.
"The game of Gritzko?" and Count Valonne laughed. "Frankly, I think he
is very much in love with you, Madame," he said. "So by that you can
guess what would be any man's game."
"You have a vivid imagination, and are talking perfect nonsense."
Tamara laughed nervously. "I refuse to be the least upset by such
ideas!"
At the moment up came Count Boris Varishkine, and after a while she
went off with him to a sofa by the window, and there was seated in deep
converse when the Prince came in.
He looked at them for a second and then made straight for the Princess
Ardácheff, who was just about to arrange her rubber of bridge.
"Tantine, I want to talk to you," he said.
And the Princess at once left the cardroom and returned with him. They
found a quiet corner opposite Tamara and her Garde, and there sat down.
"Tantine, I brought you here to look over there.--What does that mean?"
The Princess put up her glasses to gain time.
"Nothing, dear boy. Tamara is merely amusing herself like all the rest
of us at a party. Are you jealous, Gritzko?" she asked.
He looked at her sharply, and for a moment unconsciously fingered the
dagger in his belt.
"Yes, I believe I am jealous. I am not at all sure that I do not love
your charming friend," he said.
"Well, why don't you marry her then?" suggested the Princess.
"Perhaps I shall--if she does not drive me to doing something mad
first. I don't know what I intend. It may be to go off to the Caucasus,
or to stay and make her love me so deeply that she will forgive me--no
matter what I do."
He paused a moment, and his great eyes filled with mist, and then the
wild light grew.
"If ever she becomes my Princess, she shall be entirely for me. I will
not let her have a look or thought for any other man. All must be
mine--unshared, and then she shall be my queen."
Princess Ardácheff leant back and looked at him. He was in his blue
uniform with the scarlet underdress; and even she--old woman and fond
friend--could not help picturing the gorgeous joy such a fate would
give--to have him for a lover! to see his fierce, proud head bent in
devotion, to feel his tender caress. Tamara must be an unutterable fool
if she should hesitate.
But what he had said was not reassuring in its prospect of calm. She
felt she must put in some small word of admonition.
"You will be careful won't you, Gritzko?" she ventured to suggest.
"Remember, Tamara is an Englishwoman, and not accustomed to your ways."
"It will depend upon herself," he said. "If she goes on teasing me I do
not know what I shall do. If she does not--"
"You will be good?"
"Possibly. But one thing, Tantine, I will not be interfered with either
by her friend the Englishman or Boris Varishkine."
At this moment Tamara looked up and caught the two pairs of eyes fixed
upon her. And into her spirit flowed a devilment.--Duels! They were all
nonsense. She should certainly play a little with her new friend.
In her whole life before she came to Russia she had never been really
flirtatious. She was in no way a coquette, rather a simple creature who
recked little of men. But the simplest woman develops feline qualities
under certain provocation; and her pride was deeply hurt.
Count Boris Varishkine asked nothing better than to fall in with her
views. He was, however, like most of his countrymen, sincere, and not
merely passing the time.
Jack Courtray came up, too, and joined them, his Countess Olga had sent
him temporarily from her side. And Tamara scintillated and sparkled as
she talked to them both in a way which surprised herself.
This society was very diplomatic, and it amused her to watch the
representatives of the different nations--the English and the Russians
standing out as so much the finest men.
Presently the little group was joined by Stephen Strong.
"Isn't this an amusing party, Mrs. Loraine?" he said.
"Yes," said Tamara. "And I am beginning to be able to place the members
of the different countries. Don't you think the Russians look much the
most like us, Mr. Strong?"
"The Russians, dear lady? When you have traveled a little more you will
see that term covers half the types of the earth--but I agree. What we
see here in Petersburg are very much like us--a trifling difference in
the way the eyes are set, and the way the hair is brushed; and, given
the same uniforms, half these smart young men might be our English
Guards."
"We do not resemble you in character, though," said Count Varishkine.
"You can feel just what you like, or not at all, whereas we are
storm-tossed, and have not yet learnt the arts of pretence."
"We're a deuced cold-blooded race, aren't we, Tamara?" Jack Courtray
said, and he grinned his happy grin.
The little party looked so merry and content Princess Ardácheff hardly
liked to disturb them, but was impelled to by a look in Gritzko's face.
"Tamara, dear," she said, as she joined them, "I am so very tired after
last night, for once shall we go home reasonably early?"
And Tamara rose gladly to her feet.
"Of course, Marraine, I too am dropping with fatigue," she said.
The Prince spoke a few words to Stephen Strong, and Jack joined in; so
that the three were a pace or so to one side when the two ladies wished
them goodnight.
"Come and see me early tomorrow, Jack," Tamara said. "I want to show
you Tom's letter from home," and she looked up with an alluring smile,
feeling the Prince was watching her; then, turning to Count Boris, "I am
sure you will regret your bargain in having asked me to dance the Mazurka
tomorrow night," she said. "I do not know a single figure or a step--but I
hope we shall have some fun. I am looking forward to it."
"More than fun!" the young man said, with devotion, as he kissed her
hand.
Then they walked to say goodnight to the hostess, and Gritzko seemed to
disappear. But when they got down into the hall they saw him already in
his furs.
The Princess' footman began to hand Tamara her snowboots and cloak, but
Gritzko almost snatched them from the man's hand. She made no protest,
but let him help her to put them on and wrap her up, while her
godmother thought it advisable to walk toward the door.
"Tonight was your moment, Madame," he said, in a low voice. "But the
gods are often kind to me, and my hour will come!"
Tamara summoned everything she knew of provokingness into her face as
she looked up and answered:
"Tant pis! et bon soir! Monsieur le démon de Lermontoff!"
Then she felt it prudent to run quickly after the Princess and get into
the automobile!
CHAPTER XIV
It was twenty-four hours later. The night of the Ardácheff ball had
come. The glorious house made the background of a festive scene. The
company waited all round the galleries for the arrival of the Grand
Dukes and the foreign King and Queen.
And Tamara stood by her godmother's side at the top of the stairs, a
strange excitement flooding her veins.
Since the night before they had heard nothing of the Prince. And as
each guest came in view, past the splendid footmen grouped like statues
on every six steps, both women watched with quickening pulses for one
insouciant Cossack face.
The Royalties arrived in a gorgeous train, and yet neither Gritzko nor
Count Varishkine.
It might mean nothing, but it was curious all the same. The opening
_contre-danse_ was in full swing, and still they never came, and
by the time of the second valse after it Tamara was a prey to a vague
fear. While the Princess' uneasiness grew more than vague.
Tamara could not enjoy herself. She talked at random, she made her
partners continually promenade through the salons, and her eyes
constantly scanned the doors.
The immense ballroom, quite two stories high, presented a brilliant
sight with its stately decorations of the time of Alexander I. And all
the magnificent jewels and uniforms, and the flowers. Somehow a riot of
roses takes an extra charm when outside the thermometer measures zero.
And no one would have believed, looking at this dignified throng, that
they could be the same people who could frolic wildly at a Bohemian
supper.
There is a great deal in breeding, after all, and the knowledge of the
fitness of things which follows in its train.
Tamara was valsing with Jack Courtray, and they stopped to look at the
world.
"Are they not a wonderful people, Jack? Could anything be more decorous
and dignified than they are tonight? And yet if you watch, in the
_contre-danse_ their eyes have the same excited look as when we
wildly capered after supper in Prince Milaslávski's house."
"Which reminds me--why is he not here?" asked Jack.
"I wish I knew," Tamara said. "Jack, be a dear and go and forage about
and get hold of Serge Grekoff, if you can see him, or Mr. Strong, or
Sasha Basmanoff, or some one who might know--but it seems as if none of
them are here."
"As interested as that?" and Lord Courtray laughed. "Well, my child,
I'll do my best," so he relinquished her for the next turn and left her
with Valonne, who had just arrived.
"Apparently I shall have to go partnerless for the Mazurka," Tamara
carelessly said while she watched the Frenchman's face with the corner
of her eye. "I was engaged for it to Count Varishkine, and he has never
turned up. I do wonder what has happened to him. Do you know?"
"I told you you would be lucky if you got away from here without some
row of sorts, Madame," and Valonne smiled enigmatically.
"What do you mean? Please tell me?" and Tamara turned pale.
"I mean nothing; only I fancy you will only see one of them tonight;
which it will be is still on the cards."
A cold, sick feeling came over Tamara.
"You are not insinuating that they have been fighting?" she asked, with
a tremble in her voice which she could not control.
But Valonne reassured her.
"I am insinuating nothing," he said, with a calm smile. "Let us have
one more turn before this charming valse stops."
And, limp and nerveless, Tamara allowed herself to be whirled around
the room; nor could she get anything further out of Valonne.
When it was over she sought in vain for her godmother or Jack or
Stephen Strong. The Princess was engaged with the Royalties and could
not be approached, and neither of the men were to be seen.
The next half-hour was agony, in which, with a white face and fixed
smile, Tamara played her part, and then just before the Mazurka was
going to begin Gritzko came in.
It seemed as if her knees gave way under her for a moment, and she sat
down in a seat. The relief was so great. Whatever had happened he at
least was safe.
She watched him securing two chairs in the best place, and then he
crossed over to where she sat by the door to the refreshment room.
"Bon soir, Madame," he said. "Will you take me as a substitute for your
partner, Count Varishkine?" and he bowed with a courtly grace which
seemed suited to the scene. "He is, I regret to say, slightly
indisposed, and has asked me to crave your indulgence for him, and let
me fill his place."
For a moment Tamara hesitated; she seemed to have lost the power of
speech; she felt she must control her anxiety and curiosity, so at last
she answered gravely:
"I am so very sorry! I hope it is nothing serious. He is so charming,
Count Varishkine."
"Nothing serious. Shall we take our places? I have two chairs there not
far from Olga and your friend," and the Prince prepared to lead the
way. Tamara, now that the tension was over, almost thought she would
refuse, but the great relief and joy she felt in his presence overcame
her pride, and she meekly followed him across the room.
They passed the Princess on the way, and as she apparently gave some
laughing reply to the Ambassador she was with, she hurriedly whispered
in Tamara's ear:
"Pour l'amour de Dieu! Be careful with Gritzko tonight, my child."
When they were seated waiting for the dance to begin Tamara noticed
that the Prince was very pale, and that his eyes, circled with blue
shadows, seemed to flame.
The certainty grew upon her that some mysterious tragic thing had taken
place; but, frightened by the Princess' words, she did not question
him.
She hardly spoke, and he was silent, too. It seemed as though now he
had gained his end and secured her as a partner it was all he meant to
do.
Presently he turned to her and asked lazily:
"Have you been amused since the Moravian reception? How have you passed
the time? I have been at Tsarsköi again, and could not come to see
Tantine."
"We have been quite happy, thanks, Prince," Tamara said. "Jack Courtray
and I have spent the day studying the lovely things in the Hermitage. We
must see what we can before we both go home."
Gritzko looked at her.
"I like him--he is a good fellow--your friend," and then he added
reflectively: "But if he spends too much time with you I hope the bears
will eat him!"
This charitable wish was delivered in a grave, quiet voice, as though
it had been a blessing.
"How horrible you are!" Tamara flashed. "Jack to be eaten by bears!
Poor dear old Jack! What has he done?"
"Nothing, I hope,--as yet; but time will tell. Now we must begin to
dance."
And they rose, called to the center by the Master of the Ceremonies to
assist in a figure.
While the Prince was doing his part she noticed his movements seemed
languid and not full of his usual wild _entrain_, and her feeling
of unease and dread of she knew not what increased.
Tamara was very popular, and was hardly left for a moment on her chair
when the flower figures began, so their conversations were disjointed,
and at last almost ceased, and unconsciously a stiff silence grew up
between them, caused, if she had known it, on his side, by severe
physical pain.
She was surprised that he handed all his flowers to her but did not ask
her to dance, nor did he rise to seek any other woman. He just sat
still, though presently, when magnificent red roses were brought in in
a huge trophy, and Serge Grekoff was seen advancing with a sheaf of
them to claim Tamara, he suddenly asked her to have a turn, and got up
to begin.
She placed her hand on his arm, and she noticed he drew in his breath
sharply and winced in the slightest degree. But when she asked him if
something hurt him, and what it was, he only laughed and said he was
well, and they must dance; so away they whirled.
A feverish anxiety and excitement convulsed Tamara. What in heaven's
name had occurred?
When they had finished and were seated again she plucked up courage to
ask him:
"Prince, I feel sure Count Varishkine is not really ill. Something has
happened. Tell me what it is."
"I never intended you to dance the Mazurka with him," was all Gritzko
said.
"And how have you prevented it?" Tamara asked, and grew pale to her
lips.
"What does it matter to you?" he said. "Are you nervous about Boris?"
And now he turned and fully looked at her, and she was deeply moved by
the expression in his face.
He was suffering extremely, she could distinguish that, but underneath
the pain there was a wild triumph, too. Her whole being was wrung. Love
and fear and solicitude, and, yes, rebellion also had its place. And at
last she said:
"I am nervous, not for Count Varishkine, but for what you may have
done."
He leaned back and laughed with almost his old irresponsible mirth.
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