The Genius | Page 9

he could not fathom; but which filled him with
prescience of evil. His troubled eyes sought the face of his mother in
the hall below; and he found there what he had feared. From his
vantage-point he had a clear view of the quickening rush of departure.
Crowds were pouring up-stairs to re-don their furs; though many of
these people had not yet recovered from the chill of their long drive
from the Grand Theatre. Soon the great staircase was so crowded that
many who were still below made no effort to ascend, deputing the
bringing of their wraps to friends who had forced an upward passage.
For so bitter was the night that few had pursued the usual custom of
leaving their sables outside, on the arms of patient footmen.
Ivan watched the good-nights to his father and mother; and noted also
the lack of them. He beheld the drooping, weary figure of the Princess,
in her blaze of gems, forcing piteous smiles of farewell. And he was
glad that there were so many who, under cover of the throng, evaded
the ordeal of the good-night, and slipped away from the brilliant rooms
as from a dwelling haunted with evil.
There was but one consolation for this misery--it was very brief. The
crowd that had taken a long hour to assemble, dispersed and melted
away into the darkness of the city within the space of fifteen minutes.
There had, indeed, been some who had arrived after his Excellency the
Count. These, perceiving the crowd out-streaming, divined calamity,
and, without so much as descending from their sleighs, turned about
and departed as they had come.
By half-past one o'clock three figures stood alone in the great hall;

while on the staircase, beside the motionless Diana, crouched a lonely,
frightened child, who still stared, as if with enchanted eyes, at his
mother's white, despairing face. Princess Sophia stood motionless, her
head bent, her hands clasped tightly before her, persistently avoiding
her husband's eyes. Caroline, with a half-protective air, was between
her sister and her brother-in-law. Michael, his face as colorless as that
of the statue, his eyes alight with the fire in his brain, stared straight
before him, into some bitter world of his own. About them was the
unbearable silence which Madame Dravikine, who alone was
unaccustomed to it, finally broke in desperation:
"Come, Sophie! Come to bed. You are too tired to stay down here.
You'll be ill."
But, at the moment, Sophia had, in her heart, the thought of another
than herself. At sight of some unwonted suggestion in his face of a pain
with which she had been long familiar, there had entered into her heart
a sudden pity for the man she so feared. Imbued with a momentary
courage, she advanced to her husband and took his hand. "Michael,"
she murmured, "I--am sorry."
The man started in amazement, and then drew away from her, at the
same time turning upon her his burning eyes. "Sorry! Good God! Then
get to your ikons and pray. For me--there's no sorrow for me. Nicholas
has played his game. Now mine begins. Sorrow for him, if you like.
For, by the help of Satan, he and Moscow shall know me yet!"
The low-spoken words ended with a snarl of inarticulate anger. And the
moment they were uttered, he turned brusquely, and, without another
word or look, disappeared in the direction of his offices, where, as his
wife knew, he would probably work till far into the next day.
The two women watched him go. Then, after a pause, they found
themselves clinging to each other, and in this fashion began the ascent
of the stairs. Both of them were weeping: not loudly; rather as the
reaction from the strain of the past hour. As they reached the landing,
they were joined by another. Ivan came openly from his hiding-place,
and barred their path, guilt-laden. But there was to be no rebuke

to-night for his disobedience. On the contrary, his mother took him into
her arms and clasped him close, as if his presence brought comfort for
much immediate pain. And the boy, feeling the hot tears from her eyes
fall upon his face, laid his arms about her neck, and yielded himself to a
grief and a terror that he understood vaguely, but could not as yet
define.
CHAPTER II
MICHAEL
Up to the time of Prince Gregoriev's marriage, that peculiar man had
used his huge dwelling as a gypsy uses a moor: he had wandered about,
living for three months in the west wing, three more in the east, again
for six high up in the central portion of the great building, taking with
him the rather simple impedimenta of his state, and arranging them as
he chose. The presence of