Three Weeks Page 17
CHAPTER XVII
That night, as they looked from the loggia on the Grand Canal afterdinner, the moonlight making things almost light as day, Dmitry beggedadmittance from the doorway of the great salon. The lady turnedimperiously, and flashed upon him. How dared he interrupt their happy hourwith things of earth? Then she saw he was loth to speak before Paul, andthat his face was grey with fear.
Paul realised the situation, and moved aside, pretending to lean from thewide 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. Ithad no coloured lights, this gondola, or merry musicians; it was just ablack object of silence, tenanted by one man.
Dmitry whispered, and the lady listened, a quiver of rage going throughher lithe body. Then she turned and surveyed the moored gondola, the samestorm of passion and hate in her eyes as once before had come there, atthe Rigi Kaltbad Belvedere.
"Shall I kill the miserable spy? Vasili would do it this night," shehissed 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 himfuriously aside, and took Paul's hand. "Come, my lover," she said, "wewill look no more on this treacherous stream! It is full of the ghosts ofpast 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 coldas ice.
A tumult of emotion was dominating Paul. He understood now that danger wasnear--he guessed they were being watched--but by whom? By the ordersof--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 legalbelonging of somebody else! Some vile man whom she hated and loathed, a"rotting carrion spoiling God's earth." And he--Paul--was powerless tochange this fact--was powerless altogether except to love her and die forher if that would be for her good.
"Queen," he said, his voice hoarse with passion and pain, "let us leaveVenice--leave Europe altogether--let me take you away to some far land ofpeace, and live there in safety and joy for the rest of our lives. Youwould always be the empress of my being and soul."
She flung herself on the tiger couch, and writhed there for some moments,burying her clenched fists in the creature's deep fur. Then she openedwide her arms, and drew Paul to her in a close, passionate embrace.
"_Moi-Lioubimyi_--My beloved--my darling one!" she whispered in anguish."If we were lesser persons--yes, we could hide and live for a time in atent under the stars--but we are not They would track me, and trap us, andsooner or later there would be the end, the ignominious, ordinary end ofdisgrace--" Then she clasped him closer, and whispered right in his ear inher wonderful voice, now trembling with love.
"Sweetheart--listen! Beyond all of this there is that thought, that hope,ever in my heart that one day a son of ours shall worthily fill a throne,so we must not think of ourselves, my Paul, of the Thou, and the I, andthe Now, beloved. A throne which is filled most ignobly at present, andonly filled at all through my birth and my family's influence. Think not Iwant to plant a cheat. No! I have a right to find an heir as I will, asplendid heir who shall redeem the land--the spirit of our two selvesgiven being by love, and endowed by the gods. Ah! think of it, Paul. Dreamof this joy and pride, it will help to still the unrest we are bothsuffering now. It must quiet this wild, useless rage against fate. Is itnot so, my lover?"
Her voice touched his very heartstrings, but he was too deeply moved toanswer her for a moment. The renewal of this thought exalted his verysoul. All that was noble and great in his nature seemed rising up in oneglad triumph-song.
A son of his and hers to fill a throne! Ah! God, if that were so!
"I love the English," she whispered. "I have known the men of allnations--but I love the English best. They are straight and just--thefine ones at least. They are brave and fair--and fearless. And our babyPaul shall be the most splendid of any. Beloved one, you must not think mea visionary--a woman dreaming of what might never be--I see it--I know it.This will come to pass as I say, and then we shall both find consolationand rest."
Thus she whispered on until Paul was intoxicated with joy and glory, andforgot time and place and danger and possible parting. A host oftriumphant angels seemed singing in his ears.
Then she read him poetry, and let him caress her, and smiled in his arms.
But towards morning, if he had awakened, he would have found his ladyprostrate with silent weeping. The intense concentrated grief of a strongnature taking its farewell.