Three Weeks

That night, as they looked from the loggia on the Grand Canal after dinner, the moonlight making things almost light as day, Dmitry begged admittance from the doorway of the great salon. The lady turned imperiously, and flashed upon him. How dared he interrupt their happy hour with things of earth? Then she saw he was loth to speak before Paul, and that his face was grey with fear.

Paul realised the situation, and moved aside, pretending to lean from the wide windows and watch the passing gondolas, his wandering attention, however, fixing itself upon one which was moored not far from the palazzo, and occupied by a solitary figure reclining motionless in the seats. It had no coloured lights, this gondola, or merry musicians; it was just a black object of silence, tenanted by one man.

Dmitry whispered, and the lady listened, a quiver of rage going through her lithe body. Then she turned and surveyed the moored gondola, the same storm of passion and hate in her eyes as once before had come there, at the Rigi Kaltbad Belvedere.

"Shall I kill the miserable spy? Vasili would do it this night," she hissed between her clenched teeth. "But to what end? A day's respite, perhaps, and then another, and another to face."

Dmitry raised an imploring hand to draw her from the wide arched opening, where she must be in full view of those watching below. She motioned him furiously aside, and took Paul's hand. "Come, my lover," she said, "we will look no more on this treacherous stream! It is full of the ghosts of past murders and fears. Let us return to our shrine and shut out all jars; we will sit on our tiger and forget even the moon. Beloved one--come!"

And she led him to the open doorway, but the hand which held his was cold as ice.

A tumult of emotion was dominating Paul. He understood now that danger was near--he guessed they were being watched--but by whom? By the orders of--her husband? Ah! that thought drove him mad with rage--her husband! She--his own--the mate of his soul--of his body and soul--was the legal belonging of somebody else! Some vile man whom she hated and loathed, a "rotting carrion spoiling God's earth." And he--Paul--was powerless to change this fact--was powerless altogether except to love her and die for her if that would be for her good.

"Queen," he said, his voice hoarse with passion and pain, "let us leave Venice--leave Europe altogether--let me take you away to some far land of peace, and live there in safety and joy for the rest of our lives. You would always be the empress of my being and soul."