The loneliness of the room, of the house, of the storm-ploughed garden, became as the thunder of falling boulders.
VII
Her friends awaited developments in suspense. None expected her to offer Maidanoff any serious resistance. When she seemed to hold out, her subtlety was admired. Paris predicted a radiant future for her. Much public curiosity centred upon her, and many newspaper columns were devoted to her.
When she arrived in Russia it was clear that the authorities and officials had received special instructions. No queen could have been treated with more subtle courtesy. Palatial rooms in a hotel were in readiness and adorned. A slavish humility surrounded her.
When the Grand Duke called, she begged him to rescind the orders that made her his debtor. He devoured her words with a frosty and lurking expression, but remained inactive. She was indignant at this slothfulness of a rigid will, this deaf ear that listened so greedily.
His contempt of mankind had something devastating in it. His slow eyes seemed to say: Man, thou slimy worm, grovel and die!
In his presence Eva felt her thoughts to be so loud at times that she feared he would perceive them.
She ventured to oppose and judge him. A young girl, Vera Cheskov, had shot the governor of Petrograd. Eva had the courage to praise that deed. The Grand Duke’s answer was smooth, and he left quite unruffled. She challenged him more vigorously. Her infinitely expressive body vibrated in rhythms of bitterness and outrage. She melted in grief, rage, and sympathy.
He watched her as one would watch a noble beast at its graceful antics and said: “You are extraordinary, Madame. I cannot tell what wish of yours I would leave ungranted for the reward of winning your love.” He said that in a deep voice, which was hoarse. He had also a higher voice, which had a grinding sound like that of rusty hinges.
Eva’s shoulders quivered. His iron self-sufficiency reflected no image of her or her influence. Against it all forces were shattered.