She was dancing. Her feet flew in time to the rhythm. . . . Now it was dark and she was lying back on a divan, faint, helpless. The voice of the Prince was in her ears and he was bending over her; his eyes were crossed. . . . Ah, the clock was striking! It was midnight and someone had opened the door! Someone was crossing the room and bending over papers on the desk! . . . There was the sound of a shot! She was holding the pistol in her hand . . . It was smoking and through the vapoury wreathes she saw on the floor a body lying . . . a man on his face with his arms outstretched!
She shuddered again and the doves rose uneasily, circling about her, and lighting with fluttering wings.
"I have tried to atone," she whispered to the birds, "Come back! God knows--I have tried to atone!"
Then she went on trilling high up in the scale, her eyes gazing dreamily and her hands amongst the doves, stroking them, playing with them.
The voice was that of a man, deep and harsh, and the steps were firm. They crossed the room and stopped behind the kneeling figure.
"Hush!" said Kaya, "Not too near, dear Master! You will frighten the doves! See, how they press against me with their breasts and their wings--and how they flutter! They were hungry this morning, but they have eaten now and are happy. Once they came to me and I had nothing for them. If they knew better, poor doves, it is you they would fly to, and your hands they would eat from; since it is you who have fed them, not I."
"You were practising," said the Kapellmeister, "That is well, Kaya. I heard you from the promenade and I saw you. Your curls were like a halo of gold in the sun, and the doves circled, cooing. One was on your shoulder. Ah, it has gone now--I have startled it! It was close to your cheek, and you were feeding it from your lips."
"Yes," said Kaya, "Yes. It is sweet to be able to feed them. You have fed us both, dear Master."
She turned her head slightly, smiling up at him.
"Turn your head further, Kaya; let me see your face."
"The dove has come back. How can I? There--move a little, my dove--chrr-rp! Go away! No, he clings! See--I cannot! The down on his breast is so soft and his feathers so warm. He presses so close."