"Is what true?" replied Olga, under her breath, half fascinated by the face and eyes looking down so close upon her; a face that bore the familiar lineaments of Ivor, but with an expression she had never seen there before, and which made this very familiarity seem strange and repellent.
"Is it true," repeated Ivor, in the same low voice, "that when Count Vladimir Mellikoff returns—if he returns—Mademoiselle Naundorff will bestow upon him the honour of her hand? Is it true? For that is the reading between the lines, is it not? Our Court recognises but one proud favourite, mademoiselle, and who should know her name so well as you? At present she lacks but one courtier in her train, Count Vladimir. You see the riddle is not difficult of solution; but is it true—Olga?"
It was the first time he had ever called her by her name, and Mademoiselle Naundorff winced perceptibly as she heard it fall from his lips, in the low suppressed tones of his voice. She started, and threw back her head with her favourite gesture, as if she would throw off the burden of the hour, and free herself from its restrictions.
"Have you a right to ask, Ivor?" she answered, coldly. "How can you be so foolish as to heed a bit of incomplete gossip, blown to us from the lips of Countess Vera, light as feather-down, and without beginning or end, as are most of the Countess's scandals?"
"You may laugh at me if it pleases you," replied the young man, brusquely; "but I will have my answer. Is it true?"
"Will have—and to me!" cried out Mademoiselle Naundorff, hasty anger in her voice, then laughing a little. "You deserve to be punished for your temerity. What—since you will have it so, Ivor—what if to oblige you I admit that perhaps when Count Mellikoff returns, if I see my way to it, and am not too bornée or fatigued, I may—what is the happy phrase?—bestow my hand upon him. There, you have your answer, sir."
She leant back again against the cushions, and scrutinised him through her half-closed eyelids. Ivor's face was white with passion; his blue eyes seemed made of steel, so hard and brilliant was their lustre. He did not move from his position, or take his gaze from her face, and when he spoke it was with no outburst of anger or eloquence, but in the same repressed low voice.
"Then I warn you, Olga, let him take heed, for you shall never give to him what I know you would refuse to me. Should he dare to boast of you as won by him, I will make him eat his own words, even though it be with a knife of steel."
Olga shuddered involuntarily, but controlling herself quickly, said quietly, with a little laugh: "You speak at random, my poor Ivor; what wish of yours have I disregarded, or what request left unfulfilled? Is there anything more I can do for you?"
But Tolskoi was not to be put off with light words or meaningless phrases; his face did not relax, nor a softer expression come to his eyes, at her bantering words, though he spoke somewhat less harshly.