“Or thirty,” laughed Stahl.
“Or twenty,” I sighed, in even deeper despondency.
“Oh, no,” said Stahl. “Twenty years hence you will still be a charming matron getting on towards middle-age.” And, as some one was calling him, he turned away and left me.
His words sank into my heart, heavy and searing as molten lead. How short, how short was life! How the years flew past! How brief were the wings of youth and happiness! I raised my eyes—doubtless they were full of sadness—and I saw that Bozevsky at the far end of the room was looking at me. Several brilliantly attired women were laughing and talking to him, but abruptly, without excuse or explanation, he left them and crossed the room to where I sat.
The tziganes were playing a wild, nerve-thrilling czarda. Without a word Bozevsky put his arm round me and drew me into the dance.
The music went faster and faster, wilder and ever more wild.
Light as air I swung round in Bozevsky's arm. I could have wished to dance thus forever—dance, dance to the very brink of life and, still dancing, to plunge over into the abyss of death.
As we whirled round I perceived that Vassili was watching us. He was drinking champagne with vodka in it and was laughing loudly while he spoke to Stahl; but his eyes never left me as I swept round the ballroom with Bozevsky. His gaze alarmed me. I was dizzy and out of breath, but I did not dare to stop dancing for fear of Vassili. I danced and danced, breathless and distraught; I felt my heart beating furiously, pulsing with the mad rapidity, the battering throb of a motor-cycle at full speed—and still I danced and danced on, while the ballroom, the guests, the tziganes spun round and round before my blurred eyes....
Vassili's gaze still followed me.