Part 26 (1/2)

Netty did not smoke. She confessed to being rather an old-fas.h.i.+oned person. Which is usually accounted to her for righteousness by men, who, so far as women are concerned, are intensely conservative--such men, at all events, whose opinion it is worth a woman's while to value.

Miss Mangles, on the other hand, made a point of smoking a cigarette from time to time in public. There were two reasons. The ostensible reason, which she gave freely when asked for it, and even without the asking--namely, that she was not going to allow men to claim the monopoly of tobacco. There was the other reason, which prompts so many actions in these blatant times--the unconscious reason that, in going counter to ancient prejudices respecting her s.e.x, she showed contempt for men, and meted out a bitter punishment to the entire race for having consistently and steadily displayed a complete indifference to herself.

Miss Mangles announced her intention of smoking a cigarette this evening, upon which Netty rose and said that if they were not long over their tobacco they would find her in the drawing-room.

The Mangles' salon was separated from the dining-room by Joseph's apartment--a simple apartment in no way made beautiful by his Spartan articles of dress and toilet. The drawing-room was at the end of the pa.s.sage, and there was a gas-jet at each corner of the corridor. Netty went to the drawing-room, but stopped short on the threshold. Contrary to custom, the room was dark. The old-fas.h.i.+oned chandelier in the centre of the large, bare apartment glittered in the light of the gas-jet in the pa.s.sage. Netty knew that there were matches on the square china stove opposite to the door, which stood open. She crossed the room, and as she did so the door behind her, which was on graduated hinges, swung to. She was in the dark, but she knew where the stove was.

Suddenly her heart leaped to her throat. There was some one in the room. The soft and surrept.i.tious footstep of a person making his way cautiously to the door was unmistakable. Netty tried to speak--to ask who was there. But her voice failed. She had read of such a failure in books, but it had never been her lot to try to speak and to find herself dumb until now.

Instinctively she turned and faced the mysterious and terrifying sound.

Then her courage came quite suddenly to her again. Like many diminutive persons, she was naturally brave. She moved towards the door, her small slippers and soft dress making no sound. As the fugitive touched the door-handle she stretched out her hand and grasped a rough sleeve.

Instantly there was a struggle, and Netty fought in the dark with some one infinitely stronger and heavier than herself. That it was a man she knew by the scent of tobacco and of rough working-clothes. She had one hand on the handle, and in a moment turned it and threw open the door.

The light from without flooded the room, and the man leaped back.

It was Kosmaroff. His eyes were wild; he was breathless. For a moment he was not a civilized man at all. Then he made an effort, clinched his hands, and bit his lips. His whole demeanor changed.

”You, mademoiselle!” he said, in broken English. ”Then Heaven is kind--Heaven is kind!”

In a moment he was at her feet, holding her two hands, and pressing first one and then the other to his lips. He was wildly agitated, and Netty was conscious that his agitation in some way reached her. In all her life she had never known what it was to be really carried away until that moment. She had never felt anything like it--had never seen a man like this--at her feet. She dragged at her hands, but could not free them.

”I came,” he said--and all the while he had one eye on the pa.s.sage to see that no one approached--”to see you, because I could not stay away!

You think I am a poor man. That is as may be. But a poor man can love as well as a rich man--and perhaps better!”

”You must go! you must go!” said Netty. And yet she would have been sorry if he had gone. The worst of reaching the high-water mark is that the ebb must necessarily be dreary. In a flash of thought she recollected Joseph Mangles' story. This was the sequel. Strange if he had heard his own story through the door of communication between Mangles' bedroom and the dining-room. For the other door, from the salon to the bedroom, stood wide open.

”You think I have only seen you once,” said Kosmaroff. ”I have not. I have seen you often. But the first time I saw you--at the races--was enough. I loved you then. I shall love you all my life!”

”You must go--you must go!” whispered Netty, dragging at her hands.

”I won't unless you promise to come to the Saski Gardens now--for five minutes. I only ask five minutes. It is quite safe. There are many pa.s.sing in and out of the large door. No one will notice you. The streets are full. I made an excuse to come in. A man I know was coming to these rooms with a parcel for you. I took the parcel. See, there is the tradesman's box. I brought it. It will take me out safely. But I won't go till you promise. Promise, mademoiselle!”

”Yes!” whispered Netty, hurriedly. ”I will come!”

Firstly, she was frightened. The others might come at any moment.

Secondly--it is to be feared--she wanted to go. It was the high-water mark. This man carried her there and swept her off her feet--this working-man, in his rough clothes, whose ancestor had been a king.

”Go and get a cloak,” he said. ”I will meet you by the great fountain.”

And Netty ran along the corridor to her room, her eyes alight, her heart beating as it had never beaten before.

Kosmaroff watched her for a moment with that strange smile that twisted his mouth to one side. Then he struck a match and turned to the chandelier. The globe was still warm. He had turned out the gas when Netty's hand was actually on the handle.

”It was a near thing,” he said to himself in Russian, which language he had learned before any other, so that he still thought in it. ”And I found the only way out of that hideous danger.”

As he thus reflected he was putting together hastily the contents of Joseph Mangles's writing-case, which were spread all over the table in confusion. Then he hurried into the bedroom, closed one or two drawers which he had left open, put the despatch-case where he had found it, and, with a few deft touches, set the apartment in order. A moment later he lounged out at the great doorway, dangling the tradesman's box on his arm.

It was a fine moonlight night, and the gardens were peopled by shadows moving hither and thither beneath the trees. The shadows were mostly in couples. Others had come on the same errand as Kosmaroff--for a better motive, perhaps, or a worse. It was the very end of St. Martin's brief summer, and when winter lays its quiet mantle on these northern plains lovers must needs seek their opportunities in-doors.

Kosmaroff arrived first, and sat down thoughtfully on a bench. He was one of the few who were not m.u.f.fled in great-coats and wraps against the autumn chill. He had known a greater cold than Poland ever felt.