beyond, and through the open door he could perceive her stretched on the
tiger, already dressed, reclining among the silk pillows, her guitar held
in her hands.

"Hasten, hasten, lazy one. Thy breakfast awaits thee," she called, and
Paul bounded up without further delay.

This day was to be a day of books, she said, and she read poetry to him,
and made him read to her--but she would not permit him to sit too near
her, or caress her--and often she was restless and moved about with the
undulating grace of a cat. She would peep from the windows, and frown at
the scene. The lake was hidden by mist, the skies cried, all nature was
weeping and gloomy.

And at last she flung the books aside, and crept up to Paul, who was
huddled on the sofa, feeling rather morose from her decree that he must
not touch or kiss her.

"Weeping skies, I hate you!" she said. Then she called Dmitry in a sharp
voice, and when he appeared from the passage where he always awaited her
pleasure, she spoke to him in Russian, or some language Paul knew not, a
fierce gleam in her eyes. Dmitry abased himself almost to the floor, and
departing quickly, returned with sticks and lit a blazing pine-log fire in
the open grate. Then he threw some powder into it, and with stealthy haste
drew all the orchid-silk curtains, and departed from the room. A strange
divine scent presently rose in the air, and over Paul seemed to steal a
spell. The lady crept still nearer, and then with infinite sweetness, all
her docility of the first hours of their union returned, she melted in his
arms.