The Black Cross

ire-place, dreaming, with his violin across his kn

-grand, open, with music strewn on its polished lid in a confusion of sheets; some piled, some fluttering loose, still others flung to the floor where a chance breeze, or a careless hand, may have scattered them. Near it was the exquisite bronze figure of a young satyr playing the flute, th

the cushions. He was weary. The applause, the uproar of the Mariínski was still in his ears; be

ds-ye

humming to himself to get rid of the sound, the theme, the one haunting, irrepressible motive. He walked up and d

himself down began to play, a few bars at a time, stopping and listening, then playing again. As he played, his eyes grew d

nees, playing on it as on a cello; then he caught it to his breast again in a sudden fury of improvisation-an arpeggio, light and running, his fingers barely

the organ of music filling it, thundering, reverberating, dying away; and then, as he lay

sparkling. He drank of it, and lit another cigarette and threw it away. Presently Velasco

me-life or deat

tened

intertwined was a face, upturned, exquisite, the eyes pleading, the l

xt to the Imperial Box, or was it the second? To the right?-no, the left! Below, or perhaps on the Bel

oals, dreamy, heavy, half open, gleaming like dark slits under the brows. They closed gradually and his h

as a

tap on the door. A pause, a tap,

tossed back his hair restles

p-t

ed and l

g. It was like the flutter of a bird's w

p-t

It was strange, inexplicable. After two, and the moon was go

cried, "Who are you

suddenly with wings outstretched, hovering.

open the doo

is hand, closed it behind her rapidly, fearfully, glancing back into the darkness. The woman was panting under the hood. She braced her

f his face. "Who in the name of-" He hesitated: "What in the world

under the cloak, clasping them. S

-are you married? Are you going alone to Germany?" H

and he drew back a little further: "Why really, Madame-Of course

sir, do me the little favour, the kindness-it will cost you nothin

ard, limping. Velasc

re trembling so. Let me give you some wine.-Wait

a beggar, lofty, authoritative, kin

rmured. "You don't understand. It's not for-not money! I'm in trouble, danger. Don't you see? I must flee f

d? "That is nonsense," he said, "I can't take any one with me,

ing madly under the cloak. "You could take-your-wif

my dear

. "What you say is simply absu

ment. Your sympathy is with us, the people, the Liberals, who are trying-oh, I tell you-I must go, at once! After tomorrow it is death, don't you understand,-death? What i

nes of an instrument. It moved him strangely. He felt a curious numbness in his throat and

rt-part forever. The marriage, oh listen-that is nothing, a cere

ting. She fell back against the door, bracing

to the fire-place, staring down into the coals. The sight of that bent and shrinki

am a musician. I have no interest in politics. T

tter of her cloak, it touched him, and

e Mariínski; and there-there are the violets o

aya!" He wheeled around and faced her savagely: "You

intment like a peevish boy: "I thought it was she-she! Kaya was young, fair, her face was like a flower

all a dream, a mistake. Go-out of my sight; b

earth: "Begone, or I'll call the police." He was in a tempest

from him step by step. H

, you b

s old and ugly as sin. He was sleepy and weary. Why had he taken the vi

cried sharp

gan to sob in long drawn breaths; they shook her form.

old and feeble, and crippled. He had forgotten. He had only thought of her, Kaya, the girl with the flower-like face. H

ar Madame-no, don't! It will be all right. I

a god," she cried, "but you are not; you are a brute. You have no heart. It is your vi

her, trying to raise it; "Stop!" he said, "I can't stand a woman crying, young or old. I can't stand it; it makes me sick. Stop, I te

lower; his arm pressed her shoulder. She

u are to be my wife, I'll see your face

hands, pressing him back. "I beg of you-I besee

er hair; it fell in a golden flood to her shoulders, curling in little rin

on his own. Then he leaped forward, snatched at the cloak, flung out his arms,-he had clasped the air. She was gone.

l alone i

!" He stretched his limbs yawning and laughed aloud; then he paled suddenly. Was it a dream; or no-impossible. On the sleeve of his black velv

wly, heavily, he went back to his seat bef

jewels were gone, and the coals burned lower, dying. He lit a cigarette and began to smoke. The violin was i

crushed and strewn; a twis

r. The malachite clock struck ag