Paul gazed almost affectionately at the rambling mansion as it disclosed itself to his eager eyes--for did it not shelter the one who was for him the dearest lady in the whole world?
The door opened quickly in answer to his knock and Paul found himself in a great hall furnished with a lavishness which surprised him, in such an out of the way corner of the world. On the lofty walls hung priceless old engravings, and paintings on silk, with marvellous needlework cunningly aiding the artist's brush. Paul had seen such ancient works of art in the great Continental museums--but never a collection like this. Bear-skin rugs lay strewn about the floor, and as he warmed himself at the huge porcelain stove--for it was a cool morning--he admired them with all the enthusiasm of an ardent sportsman.
He turned, as a door opened at the further end of the room, and there at last stood his dear lady. With quick strides Paul reached her and pressed her hand to his lips. She made no objection to his salutation--perhaps that custom was too prevalent in her own country to bear much significance.
As she first gazed at him a glad smile lighted her face--and then she grew quite sober.
"Ah!" she said, "you have disobeyed. How could you?"
"Dear lady," answered Paul, "you imposed on me the only command I could not follow. Surely I may be forgiven, I hope, for entering the Promised Land?"
She smiled at him--almost sadly, Paul thought, and then she said, with a far-off look in her wonderful eyes, as if she forgot his presence for the moment--
"It is passing strange--that events should take this turn--that you should have come at this time. There are, I know now, divinities that shape our ends." And then she turned to Paul and said quickly:
"What madness has brought you here? My friend, believe me, you should never have followed me. This one day you may stay--because I'm weak--and then, I beg of you, go while there is yet time."
The strange iteration of his earlier warning made Paul wonder.
"Tell me," he cried, as he looked searchingly into her face, "what hidden meaning lies beneath your words? And those of the red-haired woman at the home of Boris Ivanovitch?" And he repeated to her the other's warning--almost identical with hers.