His Hour

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!"