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Some one started to play the piano, and every one began to dance a wild round a mazurka, perhaps and Tamara found herself clasped tightly in the arms of her Prince. She did not know the step, but they valsed to the tune, and all the time he was whispering mad things in Russian in her ear. She could not correct him, because she did not know what they might mean. "Doushka," he said at last.
Then the bounds of all his mad passion burst, and as he knelt beside the couch, great tears suffused his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "My Doushka! my love!" he whispered, brokenly. "Oh, God! and I would have hurt you!"
Now tell me you do. My sweet one. Moia Doushka. I must know. I must know. You mean my life tell me?" And passion overcame Tamara, and she answered him in a low voice of vibrating emotion. "Gritzko! do you think I care for what you have done or will do! You know very well I have always loved you!" And she put up her mouth for him to kiss her.
He coaxes it forward by calling it all sorts of pet names "doushka," darling, etc. Then he beats it with a toy whip, which must feel like a fly on its woolly coat, for all the little fat pony does is to kick up its heels and fly along like the wind, missing the other sledges by a hair's-breadth. It is ghostly to see the way they glide along without a sound, for the sledges wear no bells.
"Doushka," he whispered. "I hate the Englishman and life is so short. Let us taste it while we may," and then he bent and kissed her lips! Tamara struggled against the intense intoxicating emotion she was experiencing. What frightful tide was this which had swept into her well-ordered life! She vainly put up her arms and tried to push him away, but with each sign of revolt he held her the tighter.
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