The Black Cross Part 6

"Not yet. Put your head back against the cus.h.i.+ons and rest. The colour is gone from your cheeks and you are pale like a broken flower.

Listen--do you hear the violins in the distance? Your feet move like mine; every pulse in your body is tingling and throbbing. Rest; don't speak, and in a moment--Kaya--"

Again the Countess pushed him back, her blue eyes sparkling, flas.h.i.+ng on his: "Prince, hus.h.!.+ Don't speak to me like that. You don't know, how can you! Poor boy--poor boy! Don't look at me; I tell you, don't look at me. In the dusk it might be the Duke himself, his very self!

Go--Leave me a little. If he were good like you--but you will be bad too when you are older, wicked, cruel--the blood is there in your veins. You will be like the rest. Keep away from me, Michel. Don't kiss my hands, not--my--hands!"

The Countess tore them away and gazed at the young officer, her eyes wild and dilated. She gave a little cry as of pain.

"No--no! I can bear all the rest, but not this--not this! Get up off your knees Prince. Leave me--leave me for a little while--I must think; I must be alone and think."

Her hair sparkled and gleamed against the cus.h.i.+ons. One hand was still clasped to her breast. He stooped over her, panting.

"Come and dance with me, Kaya--dearest. You are well now; your cheeks are like roses. The wine is so strong when one is giddy. Let me put my arms about you--come! I love you. Ah, your hair is like a halo; your lips are trembling. The tears in your eyes are like dew, Kaya."

The Countess rose slowly to her feet. "Yes, you are like your father already," she cried, "Already you are cowardly. You are strong and you think I am weak." Her head was thrown back; she measured him scornfully, "Go and dance, sir. Leave me, I tell you."

The Prince held out his hands. "Leave you!" he cried, "No, Kaya, no.

Come and dance."

"Leave me--leave me."

He came nearer: "Are you still faint? Will you rest and let me come back? When? How soon?"

"Leave me."

He took out his watch: "Nearly midnight," he cried, "then the Duke will return. When the clock strikes, Kaya, it will be our dance. You will waltz with me then--once more? As soon as the clock strikes?"

"Leave me."

"A quarter of an hour, Kaya, no more? I will send word to Boris. He will guard the curtain so no one will enter, unless it is the Duke himself. As soon as the clock strikes, you promise, we will waltz together?"

"Go, Michel, go--I promise."

The Prince made a step forward as though to gather the shrinking figure in his arms. He hesitated; then he moved towards the curtain; hesitated again and looked behind him. Then the heavy folds fell and the girl was alone.

She stood for a moment, watching the folds, then she put her hands to her eyes and swayed as though she were falling.

"G.o.d!" she cried, "Must I do it? Is there no other--no other instrument?" She sobbed to herself in little broken words, catching her breath: "_I vow--I vow--without weakness, or hesitation, or mercy--with mine own hands if--needs be._"

She staggered forward, still sobbing, and bent over the desk.

Something white fluttered and fell from her lace; she smoothed it with her fingers; gazed at it.

"G.o.d!" she cried, "Oh, G.o.d!"

Then she clasped her breast again and drew something out, something dark and hard. She gave a startled glance about the room, covering it with her arms; her form s.h.i.+vering as though in a chill.

"_In the name of the Black Cross I swear--I swear--_"

Then she crept back to the couch and sank on the floor behind it, covering her face with her hands. As she did so, the door on the corridor opened a crack, then wider, slowly wider, and some one came in. The form was that of a man. He looked about him. The room was still, deserted, and he gave a sigh of relief, hurrying over to the desk. When he turned up the lamp, the light revealed a bundle of papers which he laid on the desk, examining them one after the other, putting his face close to the lamp, studying, absorbed.

The face was that of the Grand-Duke Stepan; his beaked nose, his grey, upturned mustache, his eyes small and crossed. They were fixed on the sheets. All of a sudden he started violently.

Beside him on the desk, just under the lamp, was a slip of paper.

There was nothing on the paper but a Black Cross graven, above it: _Cmeptb_.

As the Duke gazed at it, his face grew ashen, his mouth twitched, his eyes seemed fairly to start from his head; his knees knocked together.

He glanced fearfully around, trying vainly to steady his hands.

"_Without weakness, without hesitation, or mercy, by mine own hands if needs be, I swear--_"

Was it a voice shrieking in his ears? He cowered backwards, huddled together, s.h.i.+vering.

"_I swear--_"

Suddenly there came the click of a revolver. A shot rang out; a moan.

The Duke stood motionless for a second; then he faltered, twisted and fell on his face with his arms outstretched.

CHAPTER V

It was snowing steadily. The drops came so thick and so fast that the city was shrouded as in a great white veil, falling from the sky to the earth. Drifts were piled in the streets; they were frozen and padded as with a carpet, and the sound of sleigh-bells rang m.u.f.fled in the distance. It was night and dark, with a bitter wind that came shrieking about the corners, blowing the snow, as it fell, into a riot of feathery flakes; sudden gusts that raided the drifts, driving the white maze hither and thither, flinging it up and away in a very fury of madness. The cold was intense.

Before the door of a house on the little Morskaa stood a kareta. It was large and covered. Behind and on top several boxes were strapped, protected from the snow by wrappings of oil-cloth, and on the driver's seat was a valise.

The horses pawed the snow impatiently, tossing their heads and snorting whenever the icy blast struck them. The wind was sharp like a whip.

Occasionally the kareta made a sudden lurch forward; then, with guttural oaths and exclamations, the animals were reined back on their haunches, slipping and sliding on the ice, plunging and foaming. The foam turned to ice as it fell, flecking their bits. The breath from their nostrils floated out like a vapour, slender and h.o.a.ry.

The driver, m.u.f.fled in furs, swung his arms against his breast, biting his fingers, stamping his feet to keep them from freezing. The kareta, the driver and the horses were covered with snow, lashed by it, blinded with it. They waited wearily. From time to time the driver glanced up at the door of the house and then back at the carriage, shaking his head and muttering fiercely:

"Stand still, you sons of the devil, stand still! You prance and shy as if Satan himself had stuck a dart in you! Hey, there!--Back, back, you limb! Will the Barin never come?"

He swore vigorously to himself under his beard, and the flakes fell from him in a shower. After a while the door of the house opened; some one appeared on the steps and a voice called out:

"Bobo, eh Bobo! Is that you, are you ready? Heavens, what a night!"

"All ready, Monsieur Velasco, all ready."

"The boxes on?"

"Yes, Barin."

"You took my valise, did you?"

"Yes, Barin."

The figure disappeared for an instant within the doorway and the light went out; then he reappeared, carrying a violin-case under his arm, which he screened from the wet with the folds of his cloak, carefully, as a mother would cover the face of her child. He leaped to the carriage.

"All right, Bobo, go ahead. Wait a moment until I get the latch open.