Marie Tarnowska

“No, no! Nobody must know us, Tioka.”

Then Tioka would begin to cry. “I feel as if we were lost, as if we were lost!…” And I knew not how to comfort him.

One day—we were at Moscow, I remember—there appeared to me for the first time that lean and threatening wolf which is called—Poverty. Poverty! I had never seen it at close range before. I almost thought it did not really exist. I knew, to be sure, that there were people in the world who were in need of money; but those were the people whom we gave charity to; that was all.

Poverty? What had poverty to do with us?

During all my life I had never given a thought to money.

XX

“Elise, I cannot bear to see myself in this ugly black dress any longer. Write to Schanz and tell him to send me some new gowns. I want a dark green tailor-made costume, and a pearl-gray voile.”

“Yes, my lady. But, begging your ladyship's pardon, Schanz says that he would like to be paid.”

“Well, let us pay him then.”

“Yes, my lady. But, begging your ladyship's pardon, his bill is twenty-five thousand rubles.”

“Well, let him have them.”

“I am sorry, my lady, but we have not got twenty-five thousand rubles.”

It was true. We had not got twenty-five thousand rubles.

“Elise, Tioka wants to be amused. He would like a toy railway.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Mind,” cried Tioka, “it must be like the one we saw yesterday, with all those stations and canals, and a Brooklyn bridge.”

“Yes, Master Tioka.”

“Well, Elise, what are you waiting for?”

“Begging your ladyship's pardon, it costs eighty rubles.”

“Well?”

“We have not got them.”

True enough; we had not got eighty rubles.

“Elise, I have no more perfumes. Go and get me a bottle of Coty's Origant.”

“Yes, my lady. But—”

“But what?”

“It costs twelve rubles.”

“Well?”

“We have not got them.”

And indeed we had not got twelve rubles.

I thought it very sad not to have twenty-five thousand rubles, nor even twelve rubles, when I required them.

I resolved to telegraph to my mother.

Feeling sad and perplexed, I went to the telegraph office and sat down at a table to write my message:

“Mother, dear, we are unhappy and forlorn; Tioka and I want to come home and stay with you always. Please send us at once—”

I was meditating on what sum to mention, when I felt the touch of a hand upon my shoulder. Startled, I turned, and raised my eyes. Before me stood a man—dark, rather tall, with a brown mustache and pendulous cheeks. Surely I knew him! Where had I seen that face before? Suddenly there flashed into my mind the recollection of a crowded, brilliantly lighted restaurant. I saw Vassili, amid much laughter, counting the dark-eyed tziganes to see if one of them were missing—Prilukoff! “The Scorpion!” It was he who stood before me.

“Countess Tarnowska! Who would have dreamt of finding you here!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing in Moscow?”

“I—I do not know,” I stammered. I had in fact not infrequently asked myself what I was doing in Moscow.

“I have heard of all your misfortunes,” he said, lowering his voice, and gazing at me sympathetically. “I have read the papers and heard all the fuss. Come now, come,” he added, “you must not weep. Let us go and have tea at the Métropole; there we can talk together.” And he took me familiarly by the arm.

I drew back. “I wanted to telegraph—,” I began.

“Telegraph? To whom?” inquired Prilukoff with an authoritative air.

“To my mother.”

“Why? What do you want to telegraph to her for?”

I flushed. “I—I have no money—” I stammered.

“Well, I have,” said Prilukoff, and he drew me out of the office.

At the top of the steps he stopped and looked me in the face. “What a fortunate meeting!” he said. “Our lucky star must have brought it about.” With these words his brown eyes looked straight into mine. “Our lucky star!” he repeated.

Merciful heaven, why did not a whisper, not a breath of warning come to me then? Why did no tremor in my soul admonish me, no heavenly inspiration hold me back? Nothing, nothing checked the smile upon my lips, nor the words in which I gaily answered him:

“Our lucky star! So be it.” And I took his arm.

The die of my destiny was cast. I went out on my way to destruction and ruin.

There were many people and much music in the Métropole when we entered.

It is strange to think how all the memorable and significant hours of my life are associated in my mind with the entrancing rhythm of dance-music, with the lilting tunes of waltz, mazurka and polonaise.

All the tragedies, all the extravagances that convulsed my existence bloomed up like tragic modern flowers in the hothouse of some fashionable restaurant, under the feverish breath of a tzigane orchestra.