m. They went to the first floor and were
ushered into a large apartment whose balcony opened on the hall of
the winter-theater, empty now. But the apartment was already occupied.
Before a table covered with a shining service Gounsovski did the honors.

He received them like a servant, with his head down, an obsequious
smile, and his back bent, bowing several times as each of the guests
were presented to him. Athanase had described him accurately enough, a
mannikin in fat. Under the vast bent brow one could hardly see his eyes,
behind the blue glasses that seemed always ready to fall as he inclined
too far his fat head with its timid and yet all-powerful glance. When he
spoke in his falsetto voice, his chin dropped in a fold over his collar,
and he had a steady gesture with the thumb and index finger of his right
hand to retain the glasses from sliding down his short, thick nose.

Behind him there was the fine, haughty silhouette of Prince Galitch. He
had been invited by Annouchka, for she had consented to risk this supper
only in company with three or four of her friends, officers who could
not be further compromised by this affair, as they were already
under the eye of the Okrana (Secret Police) despite their high birth.
Gounsovski had seen them come with a sinister chuckle and had lavished
upon them his marks of devotion.

He loved Annouchka. It would have sufficed to have surprised just once
the jealous glance he sent from beneath his great blue glasses when he
gazed at the singer to have understood the sentiments that actuated him
in the presence of the beautiful daughter of the Black Land.

Annouchka was seated, or, rather, she lounged, Oriental fashion, on the
sofa which ran along the wall behind the table. She paid attention to
no one. Her attitude was forbidding, even hostile. She indifferently
allowed her marvelous black hair that fell in two tresses over her
shoulder to be caressed by the perfumed hands of the beautiful Onoto,
who had heard her this evening for the first time and had thrown herself
with enthusiasm into her arms after the last number. Onoto was an artist
too, and the pique she felt at first over Annouchka's success could not
last after the emotion aroused by the evening prayer before the hut.
"Come to supper," Annouchka had said to her.

"With whom?" inquired the Spanish artist.

"With Gounsovski."

"Never."

"Do come. You will help me pay my debt and perhaps he will be useful to
you a