“Elise, I cannot bear to see myself in this ugly black dress any longer. Write to Schanz and tell him to send me some new gowns. I want a dark green tailor-made costume, and a pearl-gray voile.”

“Yes, my lady. But, begging your ladyship's pardon, Schanz says that he would like to be paid.”

“Well, let us pay him then.”

“Yes, my lady. But, begging your ladyship's pardon, his bill is twenty-five thousand rubles.”

“Well, let him have them.”

“I am sorry, my lady, but we have not got twenty-five thousand rubles.”

It was true. We had not got twenty-five thousand rubles.

“Elise, Tioka wants to be amused. He would like a toy railway.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Mind,” cried Tioka, “it must be like the one we saw yesterday, with all those stations and canals, and a Brooklyn bridge.”

“Yes, Master Tioka.” “Well, Elise, what are you waiting for?”

“Begging your ladyship's pardon, it costs eighty rubles.”

“Well?”

“We have not got them.”

True enough; we had not got eighty rubles.

“Elise, I have no more perfumes. Go and get me a bottle of Coty's Origant.”

“Yes, my lady. But—”

“But what?”

“It costs twelve rubles.”

“Well?”

“We have not got them.”

And indeed we had not got twelve rubles.

I thought it very sad not to have twenty-five thousand rubles, nor even twelve rubles, when I required them.

I resolved to telegraph to my mother.

Feeling sad and perplexed, I went to the telegraph office and sat down at a table to write my message:

“Mother, dear, we are unhappy and forlorn; Tioka and I want to come home and stay with you always. Please send us at once—”

I was meditating on what sum to mention, when I felt the touch of a hand upon my shoulder. Startled, I turned, and raised my eyes. Before me stood a man—dark, rather tall, with a brown mustache and pendulous cheeks. Surely I knew him! Where had I seen that face before? Suddenly there flashed into my mind the recollection of a crowded, brilliantly lighted restaurant. I saw Vassili, amid much laughter, counting the dark-eyed tziganes to see if one of them were missing—Prilukoff! “The Scorpion!” It was he who stood before me.

“Countess Tarnowska! Who would have dreamt of finding you here!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing in Moscow?”

“I—I do not know,” I stammered. I had in fact not infrequently asked myself what I was doing in Moscow.

“I have heard of all your misfortunes,” he said, lowering his voice, and gazing at me sympathetically. “I have read the papers and heard all the fuss. Come now, come,” he added, “you must not weep. Let us go and have tea at the MÉtropole; there we can talk together.” And he took me familiarly by the arm.

I drew back. “I wanted to telegraph—,” I began.

“Telegraph? To whom?” inquired Prilukoff with an authoritative air.

“To my mother.” “Why? What do you want to telegraph to her for?”

I flushed. “I—I have no money—” I stammered.

“Well, I have,” said Prilukoff, and he drew me out of the office.

At the top of the steps he stopped and looked me in the face. “What a fortunate meeting!” he said. “Our lucky star must have brought it about.” With these words his brown eyes looked straight into mine. “Our lucky star!” he repeated.

Merciful heaven, why did not a whisper, not a breath of warning come to me then? Why did no tremor in my soul admonish me, no heavenly inspiration hold me back? Nothing, nothing checked the smile upon my lips, nor the words in which I gaily answered him:

“Our lucky star! So be it.” And I took his arm.

The die of my destiny was cast. I went out on my way to destruction and ruin.

There were many people and much music in the MÉtropole when we entered.

It is strange to think how all the memorable and significant hours of my life are associated in my mind with the entrancing rhythm of dance-music, with the lilting tunes of waltz, mazurka and polonaise.

All the tragedies, all the extravagances that convulsed my existence bloomed up like tragic modern flowers in the hothouse of some fashionable restaurant, under the feverish breath of a tzigane orchestra.

So great became the power of this obsession over me, that no sooner did I enter a restaurant where there were people, and lights, and the music of stringed instruments, than I straightway felt as if I had lost my senses. Under the influence of such an atmosphere all my thoughts assumed disordered and extravagant forms. The tones of the violins excited and electrified me; as the bows swept the quivering strings I also quivered and vibrated, shaken with indescribable perturbation. The waves of sound seemed to envelop me in a turbid vortex of sentiment and sensibility.

Ah, if there had been more silence in my life, more shade, more seclusion! It is not within the safe walls of the home, not at one's own peaceful and inviolate hearth that perversity stirs to life and catastrophe is born.

Oh! Tania, my only daughter, if the wishes of your sorrowful mother could but reach you and her prayers for you be granted, they would encompass with shade and silence your young and virginal heart.

And I—ah, if I could but go back to the white vacant land of childhood, I would kneel down and entreat from heaven naught else but shade and silence in my life....

But in the CafÉ MÉtropole the blazing lights were lit, the orchestra was swinging its unhallowed censer of waltz-music through the perfumed air and the Scorpion was sitting before me drinking his tea and laughing.

“Do you remember how much afraid you were of me at the Strelna, when I jumped from the divan and touched your shoulder? And afterwards—when you found me asleep at the bottom of the sleigh?”

Yes, I remembered.

“And now you are no longer afraid of me?”

No. Now I was no longer afraid of him.

Fate, the Fury, standing behind me, must have laughed as with her nebulous hand she covered my smiling eyes.