I felt more than ever convinced that there must be something supernatural about the silent masquerader.
In the dim light the puff of grey smoke from the revolver slowly curled before my eyes, hiding for a few seconds the singularly-beautiful countenance.
When, however, a moment later, the veil had cleared, I was amazed to discover that the figure had vanished.
My hand had been unsteady.
Grasping my revolver firmly, I sprang to my feet and rushed out of the tent. While gazing quickly around, a Cossack sentry, whose attention had been attracted by the shot, ran towards me.
“Has a woman passed you?” I asked excitedly, in the best Russian I could muster.
“A woman! No, sir. I was speaking with Ivan, my comrade on duty, when I heard a pistol-shot; but I have seen no one except yourself.”
“Didn’t you see an officer?”
“No, sir,” the man replied, leaning on his Berdan rifle and regarding me with astonishment.
“Are you positive?”