"Chrr-rp—chrr-rp!"
The dove on her shoulder stretched his wings, pressing against her cheek with his breast, tipping forward on his pink feet, until his beak reached the crumb and he took it from her lips.
"Chrr-rp—chrr-rp!"
Kaya laughed softly, rubbing her cheek against the down of the bird; whistling and coaxing with her hands. The doves flew about her, lighting, struggling for footing on her shoulder and curls; and she shook her head, laughing:
"Chrr-rp—away with you! Would you pluck my hair and line your nests with my curls! Pischt—away with you!" she flung out the crumbs again. "There—eat, my pretty ones—eat!"
Below, the great wheel turned and splashed in the water with a whirr, buzzing. Kaya gazed down at it, and as she gazed she forgot the doves, and a strange little shudder went over her, so that the one on her shoulder lifted his wings in affright.
The water was deep in the pool, and there were little ripples under the spokes where the sun-beams were dancing. She dropped on her knees before the window and began to sing, still gazing at the wheel, the doves all about her, pianissimo—on the lower note of the scale, singing up, and then in arpeggios; each note distinct and separate like the link in a chain, pure, soft, hardly above a breath.
As she sang, her voice rose gradually, deepening and increasing in power. The doves pecked the crumbs on the sill, huddling against her and eating from her hands. She began to trill from one note to another, and in trilling, her thoughts ran hither and thither even as her voice, and her eyes wandered from the wheel, resting dreamily on the promenade, and the people walking under the trees.
The rhythm of a mazurka was in her ears and she sang louder, trying to drown it. She was in a great hall vaulted, dome-like with marble columns; violins were playing and the sound rose and fell, invisible as from the clouds. There was the perfume of flowers, heavy and languorous, and snatches of laughter, and the gleaming of jewels. The floor was shining and polished like a mirror, reflecting the forms of the dancers as they whirled to and fro. The light was dazzling and the colour.
She was dancing. Her feet flew in time to the rhythm.… Now it was dark and she was lying back on a divan, faint, helpless. The voice of the Prince was in her ears and he was bending over her; his eyes were crossed.… Ah, the clock was striking! It was midnight and someone had opened the door! Someone was crossing the room and bending over papers on the desk!… There was the sound of a shot! She was holding the pistol in her hand … It was smoking and through the vapoury wreathes she saw on the floor a body lying … a man on his face with his arms outstretched!