“Pardon, Madame,” exclaimed the girl, starting back, “I thought you had gone out.”
“No, Nina, I shall not go out to-night,” said her mistress. “Tell cook that M’sieur Mordvinoff will remain and dine.”
When the maid had lit the lamps and departed, I returned to where the Princess sat, and noticed how her face had changed. Instead of the cold, haughty expression usual to her, her flushed countenance beamed with tender, womanly love, an expression that was supremely fascinating. As I stood admiring her, a morbid fancy crept over me. Why should I not take her life now she was in the zenith of her happiness? It would be better so, I argued; better than allowing her passion to develop and overwhelm me.
I was too well aware that the violation of my oath would mean death to me as well as to her, and as I stood behind her chair I placed my hand upon the hilt of the knife in my pocket and half drew it from its sheath. But I could not bring myself to commit the crime. Drawing a long breath, I pushed the keen blade into its leather case with a firm determination to overcome my thoughts, and again seating myself upon the stool at her feet, continued talking of our plans for the future.
A fortnight later I was summoned before a council meeting of the Executive.
“We understand,” exclaimed Pétroff, the President of the Council, “that you hesitate to carry out the sentence of death upon the Princess Kochkaryòv. Why?”
I glanced round at the pale, determined faces of the five desperate revolutionists who were sitting at a table in the well-furnished dining-room in Oakleigh Gardens.
“I—I want time,” I stammered.
“Time! You have already had three months. We are well aware that you admire her; but she must not escape. Remember the oath you took upon this knife,” and he pointed to a long bright dagger that lay unsheathed on the table before him. “The Executive have decided that the traitress must die. If she escapes, you will pay the penalty. We trust in you.”
In a frenzy of mad despair I walked the London streets one day a week later, seeking some means by which to avert the death of the woman I loved. The decree of the Executive was irrevocable. Their terrible far-reaching vengeance is known throughout the world, and it is their proud boast that of those whom they have condemned to death, not one has ever escaped.