In the dim light the Prince made his signs, “They are all here, Stepan?”
And the supposed Stepan replied in answering signs, “I think they are all here, Excellency.”
Zouroff passed through the heavy curtains. Corsini crouched behind and bent his ears to listen.
At first there was a confused babble of sounds. Everybody seemed to be talking at once. But fortunately they were speaking in French and not in Russian. It was easier for Corsini to catch what they said.
A tall, bearded man was speaking. “This infernal Corsini, for instance. No doubt he is in the pay of Golitzine. We cannot remove him, it seems.”
Zouroff took up the running. “I did my best, you know, gentlemen; but he escaped me, and since then Beilski has put a cordon round him that we cannot break through.”
“And yet Beilski is a fool,” growled the bearded man.
“I know,” answered Zouroff. “Beilski is what you say, but he has got Golitzine at his back, and Golitzine has the intelligence of several monkeys. When Beilski is in doubt, he goes to the secretary.”
Another man spoke. “You know we have every confidence in you, Prince; but we all know of your attachment to La Belle Quéro—by the way, why is she not here to-night, to preside over our festivities?”
Zouroff spoke in a harsh, strained voice. “La Belle Quéro is ill, confined to her room. You have probably not heard that she was attacked with sudden indisposition at the Opera to-night, and that her understudy had to take her place.”