The girl caught her breath, sinking back on his shoulder, wrapped in his fur. She tried to resist him, but his arm was strong and encircled her, his hand clasped her own; it was supple and the wrist was like a hinge. There was a power, an electric force in his touch, a magnetism--she shut her eyes, yielding to it. She was like a violin after all; if he chose to play on her with his bow! Ah--she quivered.
"Monsieur," she said low, "You don"t understand. You are a Pole and you care nothing for Poland; how could you understand? And yet you play--my G.o.d, how you play, as if you had cared and suffered more than any one in the whole wide world. Have you ever suffered?"
"No," said Velasco, "What should there be to make me suffer? Not until to-night!--Ugh, this is torture, horrible!"
"Have you ever twisted and writhed in an agony of mind that was like madness because--"
"Of course," said Velasco, "After my concerts I am always like that.
It is--" He shuddered. "A black depression creeps over one. Bozhe moi! It is awful! Is that what you mean?"
"No," she said, "that is not what I meant. Tell me, Monsieur, have you ever cared for any one?"
Velasco stretched his cramped limbs and yawned. "Never, any one particularly," he said, "that I can think of. I used to like my old master in Warsaw; and I have friends; good gracious! All over Russia and Germany I have friends. You don"t mean that?"
The girl stirred uneasily against his arm.
"Was that another rat?" she said, "I felt something run over my dress."
"Draw the cloak to your chin," whispered Velasco, "Huddle yourself in it. There, are you warm? Put your head down again. One moment you are like a boy ready to fight the universe, the next you shake at the sound of a rat.--Kaya!"
"Yes, Monsieur?"
She shivered, clinging to him.
"What did you say? Say it again; don"t tremble like that."
"I would die," she whispered, "A thousand times I would die rather than have brought this on you. If I had known--if I had guessed!"
"Your hair is like down," said Velasco, "a soft, golden fluff. I can"t see it, or you; are you there? I shouldn"t know if I didn"t feel you breathing, and the touch of your head and your hand. Go to sleep; I will watch."
She murmured and stirred in his arms.
"Yes, yes, I forgive you. I never was angry. If only they haven"t hurt my violin, my Stradivarius! If they do, I shall drown myself!--But don"t think of it; don"t speak of it. Be still and sleep."
She murmured again. He laid his cheek to her hair and they sat silent, the girl half unconscious, Velasco staring out into the darkness, his face white and set.
There was a stirring of something within him impossible to fathom; something apart from himself, strange and different, like the birth of a soul; a second personality, unknown, unrevealed. His heavy eyes gleamed through the slits. The round of his chin stiffened; his mouth took new lines. The luxurious artist personality of the musician was dormant for the first time in his life; his virile and masculine side had begun to awaken. The muscles of his arm swelled suddenly and he felt a strange beating in his heart.
This girl, this stranger! She was helpless, dependent on him and his strength. He would guard her and protect her with his life. His arms were around her and no one should take her from him--no one! Not the Tsar himself! She was breathing, she was there; she was a woman and he was a man, and his strength was as the strength of a lion. What harm could befall her?
He bent his head on his breast and his lips touched her hair. Across the sodden floor of the prison, suddenly, came the first rays of dawn falling aslant, touching the shadows, the two figures crouching, the rats as they fled.
Velasco drew the cloak closer about the sleeping form of the girl, with a tender, protecting gesture. His eyes were alert. He had forgotten himself; he had forgotten his violin; he had forgotten his art. He was facing the sunlight grim and determined.
CHAPTER VII
The office of the Polkovnik was small and narrow, low, with ceiling and walls hewn out of the rock. At one end was a window barred, looking out upon a court; at the opposite end the door. On either side of the door stood a soldier in Cossack uniform, huge fellows, sabred, with their helmets belted under their chins, and their fierce, black eyes staring straight ahead, scarcely blinking.
In the centre of the room was a table, and before the table an officer seated, also in uniform, but his head was bare and his helmet lay on the litter of papers at his elbow. He had a long, ugly face with a swarthy complexion, and eyes that were sharp and cold like steel, piercing as the point of a rapier and cruel. He was tossing the litter of papers impatiently, examining one after another at intervals, then pushing them back. He was evidently waiting, and as he waited he swore to himself under his breath, glancing from time to time at the Cossacks; but they stood stiff and immovable like marble, looking neither to right nor to left. Presently the officer leaned forward and touched a bell on the table.
"There is no use waiting any longer," he said curtly, "Bring them in."
The hammer of the bell was still tinkling when the door swung back suddenly on its hinges and two people, a man and a woman, were half led, half dragged into the room; the Cossacks prodding them on with the blunt edge of their sabres.
"Brr--" said the officer sharply.
In a flash the Cossacks had leaped to their niches, their forms rigid and motionless, only the ta.s.sels on their helmets quivering slightly to show that they had stirred. The man and the woman were left beside the table.
"Your names?" demanded the officer, "The woman first."
The girl drew herself up wearily; her face was wan in the morning light, and her hair fell about her shoulders, dishevelled, a bright golden ma.s.s, curling about her forehead and ears in little rings and spirals like the tendrils of a vine. Her eyes were proud and she looked the officer full in the face, her hands clenched. Her voice rang full and scornful.
"My name is the Countess Kaya and I am the daughter of General Mezkarpin. What have you to say to me?"
"We have a good deal to say to you, Madame," retorted the Cossack, "if it is true that you are the Countess. I never saw her myself, but the Chief will be here presently. He knows her very eye-lashes, and if you have lied--"
"I have not lied," cried the girl, "How dare you speak to me like that!
Send for my father, do you hear me? At once! The General Mezkarpin."
She repeated the name distinctly and her shoulders stiffened, her blue eyes flashed. "A friend of the Tsar as you are aware. Be careful!
What you do, what you say, every act, every word shall be reported to him."
"If you have not lied," continued the Cossack smoothly, "it will be still worse for you, far worse!" He began smiling to himself and twirling his mustache. "If it is true, this report, I doubt if you leave here alive, Madame, unless it is for the Mines. You have an ugly crime at your door. How you ever escaped is a wonder! The Chief has been on your track for some time, but he was late as usual; he is always slow about arresting the women, especially if they are--"
The Cossack showed his teeth suddenly in a loud laugh, leering at the slim, young figure before him. The girl blanched to the lips.
"A crime!" she said, "What crime?"
Then she put out her hand slowly, shrinkingly, and touched the figure beside her as if to make sure that he was there.
The man was standing dazed, staring from the girl to the Cossack and back again. Mezkarpin"s daughter, the great Mezkarpin, the friend of Nicholas! And accused of--what? It was a mistake--nothing! He pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes.
"Is this woman your wife?" said the officer shortly, "Answer."
"She is my wife."
"Where are the papers?"
The man unb.u.t.toned his coat and felt in his breast pocket, the left, the right; then the pockets of his vest.
"I have them here, somewhere," he stammered, "Where in the devil! They were here last night!"
He felt again desperately. "They seem to be gone! What can have become of them? I put them here--here!" He searched again.
"Curious!" said the official, "Ha ha!"