The tiger--his tiger--had arrived in the sitting-room, and some simple cushions of silk; sweet-peas and spring flowers decorated the vases--there were no tuberoses, or anything hot-house, or forced.
The sun blazed in at the windows, the green trees all washed and fresh from the rain gladdened his eye, and down below, a sapphire lake reflected the snow-capped mountains. What a setting for a love-dream. No wonder Paul trod on air!
The only possible crumpled rose-leaves were some sentences in the lady's reply to his impassioned letter of the morning: "Yes, I will come, Paul--but only on one condition, that you never ask me questions as to who I am, or where I am going. You must promise me to take life as a summer holiday--an episode--and if fate gives us this great joy, you must not try to fetter me, now or at any future time, or control my movements. You must give me your word of honour for this--you will never seek to discover who or what was your loved one--you must never try to follow me. Yes, I will come for now--when I have your assurance--but I will go when I will go--in silence."
And Paul had given his word. He felt he could not look ahead. He must just live in this gorgeous joy, and trust to chance. So he awaited her, thrilling in all his being.
About tea time she drove up in a carriage--she and Dmitry having come the long way round.
And was it not right that her secretary should meet and assist her out, and conduct her to her apartments?
How beautiful she looked, all in palest grey, and somehow the things had a younger shape. Her skirt was short, and he could see her small and slender feet, while a straw hat and veil adorned her black hair. Everything was simple, and as it should be for a mountain top and unsophisticated surroundings.
Tea was laid out on the balcony, fragrant Russian tea, and when Dmitry had lit the silver kettle lamp he retired and left them alone in peace.
"Darling!" said Paul, as he folded her in his arms--"darling!--darling!"
And when she could speak the lady cooed back to him: "So sweet a word is that, my Paul. Sweeter in English than in any other language. And you are glad I have come, and we shall live a little and be quite happy here in our pretty nest, all fresh and not a bit too grand--is it not so? Oh! what joys there are in life; and oh! how foolish just to miss them."