I hated myself even while I endured it; and nothing would have made me play so loathesome and repugnant a part but the thought that Olga's safety demanded it.
She was still clinging about me, calling me by my name, caressing me, upbraiding me for my coldness, and chiding me for having put her to such a test, when a loud knock at the door of the room disturbed us both.
It was my discreet servant Borlas; the loudness of his knock being the measure of his discretion.
He said that my sister was waiting to see me.
CHAPTER VII.
A LESSON IN NIHILISM.
I was not a little annoyed that so soon after Olga had warned me against the wiles of Paula Tueski, she should come just when my most unwelcome lover was in my rooms—and at such a moment. But I thrust aside my irritation—which was not against Olga—and went to her, curious to learn what had brought her to visit me.
She told me in a few sentences. A friend had been to warn her that I was in danger from the Nihilists and that unless I took the greatest care, I should be assassinated. The poor girl was all pale and agitated with alarm on my account, and had rushed off to hand the warning on to me. She was half hysterical. She wanted me to fly at once, to claim the protection of the British Consulate; to proclaim my identity and get away even before my passport came from her brother.
"There is not the danger you fear, Olga," I said, reassuringly. "I shall find means to avoid it. But I want to speak to you about another matter. Paula Tueski is here"—my sister shrank back and looked at me with a hard expression on her face such as I had not seen there in all our talks. Evidently she hated the woman cordially. "You are right in your estimate of her in one respect, and for the moment she has beaten me. Much as I dislike the business, we must manage to blind her eyes and tie her hands for the moment—or I for one see none but bad business ahead."