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But it was accomplished somehow and Dmitry disappeared noiselessly with it and an answer to the note: "I will be there, sweet lady. "Your own PAUL." And he was. A bright fire burnt in the grate, and some palest orchid-mauve silk curtains were drawn in the lady's room when Paul entered from the terrace.
He raised himself, and bent down to touch her tenderly with his forefinger. Yes, all this fascination was indeed his, living and breathing and warm, and he was her lover and lord. Ah! The same coloured orchid-mauve silk curtains as at Lucerne were drawn over the open windows, so the sun in high heaven seemed only as dawn in the room, filtering though the jalousies outside. But what was time?
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