By Right of Sword Part 21

When I reached my rooms my sister and Paula Tueski were waiting for me in the greatest anxiety; and both were overjoyed to see me safe and apparently in high spirits. The police agents had been for the fellow I had left under lock and key; and Olga had taken care to carry out my instructions to the letter. Her quick instincts had warned her, and she had made a parade of almost affectionate friendship for the other woman during the time the men had been present.

After I arrived she could scarcely take her eyes off me, and I saw them glistening as with tears.

"I will take you home, directly," I said, carelessly, as a brother might speak. "But I have something to say first to Madame Tueski; so you must wait for a few minutes."

A look of reproach nearly found expression in hasty words, but remembering herself she said hastily, acting the part to the life:--

"Oh, you're always so mysterious, Alexis. I've no patience with you."

Then I led the other into my second sitting-room and told her much of what had pa.s.sed: and when I came to that part of the interview that immediately concerned herself, she was very bitter and angry.

"You think I am a p.a.w.n to be moved where you like in your game; of no account, and the meanest thing on the board. You and he are both alike in that--but wait. Your life is mine, Alexis. I have told you."

"But you must surely see that the first consideration must be all our lives--to say nothing of our safety," I answered, rather roughly, I fear, and very unsympathetically. Her heroics rasped me. "What the deuce is the good of your loving me if your husband shuts me up in a dungeon, or sends me dancing to Siberia, or causes a dagger to let out my life blood?"

"You mean to keep the word you gave him?"

"Certainly, so long as he keeps his."

She fixed her large l.u.s.trous eyes on me and let them rest on me during a long pause of silence.

"You and he together will drive me to some desperate deed," she said, at length, very slowly. "Then perhaps you will learn what a love like mine will dare for your sake. I cannot and will not bear this separation."

She wearied me with these protests, but I said nothing and went on to question her as to whether there was any power behind her husband influencing him in regard to me. She knew nothing, but admitted that she had her suspicions.

I told her next that while he was trying to a.s.sa.s.sinate me, she might find the tables turned on him, as there was a Nihilist plot on foot to a.s.sa.s.sinate him. She paid little heed to it at first, saying that there had been many such schemes formed, all of which had proved abortive, because he was most carefully and continuously guarded. A moment later, however, her manner changed a little, and she questioned me somewhat closely concerning the matter.

"They don't choose their agents shrewdly in these things," she said, "and we hear too soon of their designs. They should choose a man like you, Alexis." She seemed to speak with a hidden meaning, and I was doubtful whether she knew anything; but I kept my doubts to myself.

"If they had done that, I had a rare chance to-night," I answered.

"A bold man or a reckless woman makes the chance," she retorted in the same manner. "I am going, Alexis:" she added, and then forced on me caresses which were vastly repulsive. But I could not reveal my true feelings until I had at any rate placed Olga in safety. My indifference and coldness were apparent to the woman, and she upbraided me with a burst of angry pa.s.sion, till I had to patch up a sort of peace.

We went back to Olga and soon afterwards drove away, Olga and I setting the other down at her door.

So long as Madame Tueski was with us, Olga maintained the part of the impatient sister; but as soon as we were alone her manner changed altogether.

"I had to send for you this evening," I said, "And you saved me from a situation of great difficulty and hazard by coming so promptly. I thank you for having done so."

No reply. I glanced at her in the gloomy light in the cab and saw the profile set hard and immobile, with the lips pressed closely together.

"Storm signals out," thought I.

"I was saying I thanked you. You acted with rare discretion and did me a great service."

Not a word.

"You were not so silent just now." I hazarded.

"I was acting--with discretion." She repeated my word with that relish and enjoyment which a well regulated mind always feels about a telling sarcasm.

"And what sort of discretion is this?" I retorted, laughing.

She was silent again.

"I have a good deal to tell you in explanation."

"I have no wish to hear anything, thank you," she interposed. "I can trust your discretion"--much emphasis again on the word--"as completely as you can mine. I am glad to have been of _use_ to you and Madame Tueski." She threw the word "use" at me as if it had been a bomb to be exploded in my face.

"What have I done that's wrong? I'm very sorry," I said.

"I beg you not to apologise. You never used to, and as you appear to be slipping back into your old habits it would be out of character to apologise--to me. I am only to be used."

"I don't a bit understand you."

There was a moment's silence, and then she could contain her indignation no longer and burst out with the cause of it.

"Why didn't you send me home immediately you returned? You could surely have given me your servant as an escort. Then you would have spared me the shame and humiliation of waiting during your private interchange of confidences with that woman."

At that instant we stopped at her house.

"Please not to come in to-night," she said. "I have had to keep certain things waiting here while I was being of _use_ to you, and was sitting alone in your rooms; and I have now very much to do."

"I am sorry to trouble you; but I am coming in. This thing must be cleared up at once;" and I followed my very angry sister into the house.

She led the way to a small drawing-room and turning to me said coldly:--

"I am ready to hear what you wish to say."

I had been thinking quickly during the interval, and now changed my point of attack.

"I had a very serious thing to say. You gave me your promise...."

"I would rather you would not remind me of any promises," she interrupted. This was said deliberately; but then she broke through her cold formality, and with a little stamp of her foot finished angrily:--"I won't keep them. I won't be reminded of them. Things are altered--altogether altered."

"What I was going to say is..." I began, when she broke in again.

"I won't hear it. I don't want to hear any more. I wish you'd go away."

"You must hear me," I said quietly, but with some authority in my tone.

"'Must!' I don't understand you."

"Must--for your own safety."

"Thank you. I can protect myself. Your other cares and responsibilities have a prior claim on you. Will you please leave me now?"

"No, I can't go, until I've told you...."