XV
Suddenly my strength failed me. The room seemed to be paved with water; the floor yielded and undulated under my feet; the motor-cycle pulsing in my breast stopped dead. Then I felt Bozevsky's arm sustain me as I fell forward on his breast. Everything whirled, darkened—vanished.
When I opened my eyes I was seated near the window; the dancers crowded round me. Stahl was bending over me with a small shining instrument in his hand. It was a hypodermic syringe.
I shrank back in terror. “No, no!” I cried.
Seeing that I had recovered my senses Vassili, who stood behind me, laid an iron hand on my bare shoulder.
“Come,” he said in a hoarse and brutal voice. “Come at once.”
“Where to?” I rose trembling to my feet. I still felt dizzy and weak, and scarcely knew where I was.
“Home,” said Vassili, bending over me with a terrible look. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath upon me, hot and laden with that subtle sweetish exhalation of ether that vodka leaves behind it. “The dance is over,” he muttered. “It is over, it is over.” I noticed his clenched fists; and I was afraid. A deep silence had fallen on the entire room. “Come!” he repeated in a tone that made me quake.
I shrank back in terror. Then Vassili put out his hand and seized my pearl necklace; it broke in his grasp. The milky gems fell to the ground and rolled away in all directions; the guests, both men and women, stooped down to search for them and pick them up.
But now Bozevsky had taken a step forward, and stood, haughty and aggressive, in front of Vassili. He uttered a brief word in a low voice.