dreamy measure. From the sculptured gallery the sound came mysterious, enchanting, swaying the feet with the force of its rhythm.

"Not to-night," said the Countess, "No!" She drew herself away from the arm of the Prince and her lashes drooped over her eyes. "I am tired—later perhaps, Prince."

Her voice, low and remonstrating, was lost in the swing of the waltz. With a sudden, swift movement the scarlet and white seemed welded together, whirling into the vortex of light and of motion.

No word was exchanged. They whirled, gliding, twisting in and out among the dancers; and suddenly, swiftly, as at a signal, the music broke into the measure of the mazurka. A cry went up from the throng. In a twinkling the floor was cleared, the crowd pressed back against the columns; under the reddish marble of the dome four couples gathered, poised hand in hand.

The uniforms of the officers glowed in the light, rich and scarlet, faced with silver and gold. The gowns of their partners were brocade and velvet, purple and crimson, lilac and pearl. Then from the balcony, high up, unseen, the rhythm changed again like a flash, and with it the national dance began.

At first the movements were slow, the steps graceful; the feet seemed scarcely to move, barely gliding over the floor. One by one the couples retreated, the last left alone; and then interchanging. The music grew faster. In that moment, when they were left alone, the Prince bent his head to the slim, swaying whiteness by his side:

"Why did you come so late?" he whispered, "Where were you?"

The Countess' hand was cold like ice. She drew it away and danced on; then she whispered back:

"The Duke! Where is he to-night? He is not here! Why is the mazurka so early, tell me."

They interchanged again.

"Hush," said the Prince, "You noticed?—Don't speak. He has gone to the Tsar.—What is it? Are you ill?"

"He has—gone?"

"Dance, Countess, dance. Don't stop; are you mad? Come nearer. Hush!—The Tsar sent for him, but he will be back at midnight. No one must know."

The figure of the mazurka grew stranger and more complicated. When they were thrown together again, the Countess lifted her blue eyes to the eyes of the Prince. They seemed to look at her and yet to look past her; they were crossed. She shivered slightly and turned her head. Her white figure, slender and light as thistledown, floated away from him, and then in a moment she was back, their hands had touched; they were whirling together faster and faster, the tips of her slippers scarcely touching the floor. She closed her eyes.

"You won't tell, not a soul, I can trust you?" whispered the Prince. "Come closer, closer. There is a plot to-night. Boris told me. The Secret Service men are everywhere, watching. Don't be frightened, Countess—your hand is so cold. Can you hear me? Bend your head—so! They hope to make arrests before he returns."

"When—when does he return?"

"Sh—h! At midnight. Dance faster, faster—Let yourself go!"

The music broke into a mad riot of rhythm; the violins seemed to run races with one another in an intoxication of sound, pulsing, penetrating, overpowering. The white figure twirled in the Prince's arms, her gold hair a blot against the scarlet of his sleeve, faster and faster. Her head drooped; her eyes closed again.

The rhythm was alive, tempting, subtle, like a madness in the veins; and as they whirled, the rubato, dreamy, sudden, caught them as in a leash; the steps faltered, slower, more lingering; slower, still slower until the music stopped, dying away into the dome of the vault in a last faint echo of sound.

The Countess swayed suddenly.

Her face was white as the lace on her bosom, and her eyes grew dark and big, with black shadows sweeping her cheeks. Others stepped forward to the dance; their places were filled and the music commenced again.

"Lean on me," whispered the Prince, "Are you ill? Countess, lean on my arm—so."

His voice was hoarse and excited. He was swaying a little himself from the intoxication of the dance.

"Take me away somewhere, some quiet place," she whispered back. "Let me rest—I am faint."

He drew her after him and the two figures, the scarlet and the white, passed under the archway into a salon beyond. The Prince raised a curtain: "This is the Duke's own room," he said in her ear, "Go under—be quick!"

The curtain fell heavily behind them and the two stood alone in the Grand-Duke's room. There was a desk in the corner littered with papers, a lamp stood beside, heavily shaded, and back in the shadowy recesses was a couch.

"Help me there," whispered the Countess, "And then go—go, Prince, leave me. My head is on fire! See, my cheeks, my hands, how they burn? Help me to the couch."

She staggered and almost fell as they approached it, burying her face in her hands.

"I can't leave you," said the Prince. He was on his knees beside her, kissing her hands, trying to draw them down from her face. "Kaya, what is the matter? Don't hide your eyes—look at me. Shall I call some one? Are you ill?"

The Countess drew back against the cushions, shuddering, pushing him from her: "Don't call any one," she said, "Give me that water on the table there." Her eyes were wide open now and dilated; the hair fell disordered in golden rings and waves about the oval of her face. She drew her breath heavily; her bosom rising and falling like waves after a storm. One hand pressed her lace as if to clutch the pulsing and steady it; the other held the glass to her trembling lips.

The Prince hovered over the couch. He was pale and the crossing of his eyes was more pronounced than ever. "Drink now," he whispered soothingly as if to a child in trouble, "Drink it slowly. It is wine, not water, and will bring back your strength. It was the dance; ah, it was so fast, so mad. You were wonderful! The blood beats in my veins still; I can feel the rhythm throbbing, can you? Speak to me, Countess—are you better?"

"Is any one here," said the girl faintly, "Are we alone?"

"Yes, yes, we are alone."

"Will the Duke come in?"

"Not yet. Put your head back against the cushions and rest. The colour is gone from your cheeks and you are pale like a broken flower. Listen—do you hear the violins in the distance? Your feet move like mine; every pulse in your body is tingling and throbbing. Rest; don't speak, and in a moment—Kaya—"

Again the Countess pushed him back, her blue eyes sparkling, flashing on his: "Prince, hush! Don't speak to me like that. You don't know, how can you! Poor boy—poor boy! Don't look at me; I tell you, don't look at me. In the dusk it might be the Duke himself, his very self! Go—Leave me a little. If he were good like you—but you will be bad too when you are older, wicked, cruel—the blood is there in your veins. You will be like the rest. Keep away from me, Michel. Don't kiss my hands, not—my—hands!"

The Countess tore them away and gazed at the young officer, her eyes wild and dilated. She gave a little cry as of pain.

"No—no! I can bear all the rest, but not this—not this! Get up off your knees Prince. Leave me—leave me for a little while—I must think; I must be alone and think."

Her hair sparkled and gleamed against the cushions. One hand was still clasped to her breast. He stooped over her, panting.

"Come and dance with me, Kaya—dearest. You are well now; your cheeks are like roses. The wine is so strong when one is giddy. Let me put my arms about you—come! I love you. Ah, your hair is like a halo; your lips are trembling. The tears in your eyes are like dew, Kaya."

The Countess rose slowly to her feet. "Yes, you are like your father already," she cried, "Already you are cowardly. You are strong and you think I am weak." Her head was thrown back; she measured him scornfully, "Go and dance, sir. Leave me, I tell you."

The Prince held out his hands. "Leave you!" he cried, "No, Kaya, no. Come and