His face was ominous; all the fierce passions of his nation and of his nature held him for a while.
His dog, an intelligent terrier whom he loved, sat there before the fire and watched him, wagging his stump of a tail now and then nervously, but not daring to approach. Then, after half an hour had gone by, he rose and went to the telephone. He called up the Universal and asked to be put through to the apartment of Madame Boleski, and soon heard Harietta's voice. It was a little anxious—and yet insolent too.
"Yes? Is that you Stépan! Darling Brute! What do you want?"
"You—cannot you come and dine with me to-night—alone?"
His voice was honey sweet, with a spontaneous, frank ring in it, only his face still looked as a fiend's.
"You have just arrived? How divine!"
"This instant, so I rushed at once to the telephone. I long for you—come—now."
He allowed passion to quiver in the last notes—he must be sure that she would be drawn.
"He cannot have opened the doors of the Ikon," Harietta thought. "I will go—to see him again will be worth it anyway!"
"All right!—in half an hour!"