"Worth death and eternity," said Paul. "For one such night as this with you a man would sell his soul."
It was not until they turned at the opening of the Guidecca to return to their palazzo that they both became aware of another gondola following them, always at the same distance behind—a gondola with two solitary figures in it huddled on the seats.
The lady gave a whispered order in Italian to her gondolier, who came to a sudden stop, thus forcing the other boat to come much nearer before it, too, arrested its course. There a moonbeam caught the faces of the men as they leant forward to see what had occurred. One of them was Dmitry, and the other a younger man of the pure Kalmuck type whom Paul had never seen.
"Vasili!" exclaimed the lady, in passionate surprise. "Vasili! and they have not told me!"
She trembled all over, while her eyes blazed green flames of anger and excitement. "If it is unnecessary they shall feel the whip for this."
Her cloak had fallen aside a little, disclosing a shimmer of purple garment and flashing emeralds. She looked barbaric, her raven brows knit. It might have been Cleopatra commanding the instant death of an offending slave.
It made Paul's pulses bound, it seemed so of the picture and the night.
All was a mad dream of exotic emotion, and this was just an extra note.
But who was Vasili? And what did his presence portend? Something fateful at all events.
The lady did not speak further, only by the quiver of her nostrils and the gleam in her eyes he knew how deeply she was stirred.
Yes, one or the other would feel the whip, if they had been over-zealous in their duties!