Siberia.

She dropped the cigarette from her tapered fingers into a little silver
bowl upon a table at her side, then lightly touched the bell which
stood there also. Its soft note answered to the bell in the ante-room; a
white-robed Chinese servant silently descended the great staircase,
his soft red slippers sinking into the rich pile of the carpet; and the
little yellow man from the great temple in Pekin followed him back up
the stairway and was ushered into the presence of Madame de Medici.

The servant closed the door silently and the little yellow man, fixing
his eyes upon the beautiful woman before him, fell upon his knees and
bowed his forehead to the carpet.

Madame's lovely lips curved again in the disdainful smile, and she
extended one bare ivory arm toward the visitor who knelt as a suppliant
at her feet.

"Rise, my friend!" she said, in purest Chinese, which fell from her lips
with the music of a crystal spring. "How may I serve you?"

The yellow man rose and advanced a step nearer to the divan, but the
strange beauty of Madame had spoken straight to his Eastern heart, had
awakened his soul to a new life. His glance travelled over the vision
before him, from the little Persian slipper that peeped below the
drapery of Kashmir silk to the small classic head with its crown of ebon
locks; yet he dared not meet the glance of the amber eyes.

"Sit here beside me," directed Madame, and she slightly changed her
position with that languorous and lithe grace suggestive of a creature
of the jungle.

Breathing rapidly betwixt the importance of his mission and a new,
intoxicating emotion which had come upon him at the moment of entering
the perfumed room, the yellow man obeyed, but always with glance averted
from the taunting face of Madame. A golden incense-burner stood upon the
floor, over between the high, draped windows, and a faint pencil from
its dying fires stole grayly upward. Upon the scented smoke the Buddhist
priest fixed his eyes, and began, with a rapidity that grew as he
proceeded, to pour out his tale. Seated beside him, one round arm
resting upon the cushions so as almost to touch him, Madame listened,
watching the averted yellow face, and always smiling--smiling.

The tale was done at last; the incense-burner was cold, and breathlessly
the Buddhist clutched his knees with lean, clawish fingers and swayed to
and fro, striving to conquer the emotions that whirled and fought within
him. Selectin