She was quite the prettiest of all this little clique, petite and fair
and sweet. Divorced from a brute of a husband a year or so ago, and now
married to an elderly Prince.
And she loved Gritzko with passion, and while she was silent about it,
her many friends told him so.
For his part he remained unconcerned, and sometimes troubled himself
about her, and sometimes not.
And so the evening wore on, and apparently it had no distinct sign that
it was to be one of the finger-posts of fate.
When all had finished supper, they moved back into another great room.
"You must notice this, Tamara, it is very Russian," her godmother said.
It was an immense apartment with a great porcelain stove at one corner,
and panelled with wood, and it suggested to Tamara, for no sane reason,
something of an orthodox church! One end was bare, and the other
carpeted with great Persian rugs, had huge divans spread about; there
was an electric piano and an organ, and there were also crossed foils,
and masks, and everything for a fencing bout.
The Prince went to the piano and started a valse. Then he came up to
Tamara and asked her to dance.
There was no trace left of his respectful friendliness! His sleepy eyes
were blazing, he had never looked more oriental, or more savage, or
more intense.
It was almost with a thrill of fear that Tamara yielded herself to his
request.
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