He jumped into the fiaker after her, only thinking of those bright eyes and provoking ways, and the short route between the opera house and Heumarkt only ended in more completely turning that young head, and subjugating that inflammable heart; for, during that five minutes, Nicholas had succeeded in dislodging the black velvet mask, and in ascertaining that the charms that it had held hidden were equally enchanting as those it had revealed. Perhaps had he been less young, and therefore more observant, he would not have failed to notice that a slightly sarcastic smile hovered round the dainty, childlike mouth, and a look—was it of pity?—gave those bright eyes an added charm.
The fiaker stopped under a portico, that would have seemed dreary and desolate, beyond description, to the most casual observer, but Nicholas Alexandrovitch flew up the great, dark, stone staircase with no thought save for the dainty figure that ran swiftly up some few mètres in front of him. He followed her through a massive door, behind which he had seen her disappear, and found himself in a brilliantly-lighted, dome-like hall, where a well-laden supper-table occupied the centre, looking most tempting, whilst a valet, in irreproachable attitude, mute and expectant, stood by.
As the heavy door fell to behind him, with a loud and reverberating crash, Nicholas Alexandrovitch, looking round him, realised that the fair odalisque had once more disappeared.
A door at the opposite end of the hall was open; Nicholas passed through it, to find himself in a comfortably furnished bedroom, obviously arranged for a bachelor’s wants. It seemed to have no other egress but the door at which the Tsarevitch still stood, amazed, wondering where that bewitching houri had managed again to give him the slip. Somewhere on that dark, stone staircase no doubt, and Nicholas pondered as to whether he should endeavour to follow her in that game of hide-and-seek which she appeared to have at her fingers’ ends, or calmly await her return, which could, obviously, not be long delayed.
The valet still stood, correct in attitude and dress, mute and expectant. His intense impassiveness grated on the young prince’s turbulent nerves, strung to aching point whilst waiting for the odalisque who did not reappear.
Then it began to strike him as strange, that though the supper appeared sumptuous and plentiful, it had only been laid for one; for the unknown odalisque no doubt; but then, the bedroom adjoining was obviously not a lady’s room. Nicholas frowned, and forced his nerves to be still, and his brains to recommence to act; a breath of suspicion—the first—seemed to have crossed his mind. He walked deliberately to the door—it was locked. It did not surprise him, the breath of suspicion had suddenly developed into a hurricane of doubt.
“Where am I?” he asked the valet.
The latter bowed very humbly and pointed to his own ears and mouth, shaking his head the while.
“Real or assumed?” was the Tsarevitch’s mental query.
Obviously it was no use to try and force that door, it looked solid enough to resist an assault. Nicholas understood that he had been trapped, for what purpose remained yet to be proved.