His Hour

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.

"I can take care of my own deeds, thanks, Madame," he said.

And then anger rose in Tamara beyond sympathy for pain.

She sat silent, staring in front of her, the strain of the evening was

beginning to tell. She hardly knew what he said, or she said, until

the Mazurka was at an end, all the impression it left with her was one

of tension and fear. Then the polonaise formed, and they went in to

supper.

Here they were soon seated next their own special friends, and Gritzko

seemed to throw off all restraint. He drank a great deal, and then

poured out a glass of brandy and mixed it with the champagne.

He had never been more brilliant, and kept the table in a roar, while

much of his conversation was addressed to Tatiane Shébanoff, who sat on

his left hand.

Tamara appeared as though she were turned into stone.

And so the night wore on. It was now four o'clock in the morning. The

company all went to the galleries again to watch the departure of the

King and Queen. And, leaning on the marble balustrade next the Prince,

Tamara suddenly noticed a thin crimson stream trickle from under his

sleeve to his glove.