“The lady I mentioned has not yet arrived. I shall go to the door to await her so that the servants are not disturbed.”
Thus the Father was left with his merry, easy-going fellow-guest, who at a glance he saw was a bon viveur like himself.
The two men began to talk of spiritualism, in which Stepanoff declared himself to be much interested, and a few minutes later he poured out some wine, filling the Father’s glass from the poisoned bottle while he attracted his attention to a picture at the end of the room.
They raised their glasses, and drank. Some dry biscuits were in a silver box, and after Rasputin had drained his glass, he took a biscuit and munched it.
But to Stepanoff’s amazement the poison took no effect! Was the monk after all under some divine or mysterious protection? Stepanoff was expecting him to be seized by paroxysms of agony every moment.
On the contrary, he was still calm and expectant regarding the mysterious lady whom he was to meet.
Suddenly, however, Rasputin, slightly paler than usual, exclaimed: “Curious! I do not feel very well!”
And he crossed the room to examine an ancient crucifix, beautifully jewelled, which was standing upon a side table.
Stepanoff rose and followed him, remarking on the beauty of the sacred emblem, yet aghast that the “Saint” could take such a dose of poison and yet remain unharmed.
Prince Youssoupoff with the others, was standing silent in the upstairs room eagerly awaiting Stepanoff’s announcement that the traitor was no more. Those moments were breathless ones. What, they wondered, was happening below! They listened, and could hear the voices of the pair below still in conversation.