A few days after there was a brilliant reunion at Princess Shadursky's. All the beauty and fashion of St. Petersburg were invited, and few who were invited failed to come. It happened that Prince Shadursky was an admirer of the fair sex, and also that he had had the pleasure of meeting the brilliant Baroness von Doring at Hamburg, and again in Paris. It was, therefore, to be expected that Baroness von Doring should be found in the midst of an admiring throng at Princess Shadursky's reception. Her brother, Ian Karozitch, was also there, suave, alert, dignified, losing no opportunity to make friends with the distinguished company that thronged he prince's rooms.
Late in the evening the baroness and her brother might have been seen engaged in a tete-a-tete, seated in two comfortable armchairs, and anyone who was near enough might have heard the following conversation:
"How goes it?" Karozitch asked in a low tone.
"As you see, I am making a bit," answered the baroness in the same quiet tone. But her manner was so detached and indifferent that no one could have guessed her remark was of the least significance.
It should be noted that this was her first official presentation to St. Petersburg society. And in truth her beauty, united with her lively intellect, her amiability, and her perfect taste in dress, had produced a general and even remarkable effect. People talked about her and became interested in her, and her first evening won her several admirers among those well placed in society.
"I have been paying attention to the solid capitalists," replied Karozitch; "we have made our debut in the role of practical actors.
Well, what about him?" he continued, indicating Prince Shadursky with his eyes.
"In the web," she replied, with a subtle smile.
"Then we can soon suck his brains?"
"Soon--but he must be tied tighter first. But we must not talk here." A moment later Karozitch and the baroness were in the midst of the brilliant groups of guests.
A few late corners were still arriving. "Count Kallash!" announced the footman, who stood at the chief entrance to the large hall.
At this new and almost unknown but high-sounding name, many eyes were turned toward the door through which the newcomer must enter.
A hum of talk spread among the guests:
"Count Kallash--"
"Who is he--?"
"It is a Hungarian name--I think I heard of him somewhere.""Is this his first appearance?"
"Who is this Kallash? Oh, yes, one of the old Hungarian families--""How interesting--"
Such questions and answers crossed each other in a running fire among the various groups of guests who filled the hall, when a young man appeared in the doorway.
He lingered a moment to glance round the rooms and the company;then, as if conscious of the remarks and glances directed toward him, but completely "ignoring" them, and without the least shyness or awkwardness, he walked quietly through the hall to the host and hostess of the evening.
People of experience, accustomed to society and the ways of the great world, can often decide from the first minute the role which anyone is likely to play among them. People of experience, at the first view of this young man, at his first entrance, merely by the way he entered the hall, decided that his role in society would be brilliant--that more than one feminine heart would beat faster for his presence, that more than one dandy's wrath would be kindled by his successes.
"How handsome he is!" a whisper went round among the ladies. The men for the most part remained silent. A few twisted the ends of their mustache and made as though they had not noticed him. This was already enough to foreshadow a brilliant career.
And indeed Count Kallash could not have passed unnoticed, even among a thousand young men of his class. Tall and vigorous, wonderfully well proportioned, he challenged comparison with Antinous. His pale face, tanned by the sun, had an expression almost of weariness. His high forehead, with clustering black hair and sharply marked brows, bore the impress of passionate feeling and turbulent thought strongly repressed. It was difficult to define the color of his deep-set, somewhat sunken eyes, which now flashed with southern fire, and were now veiled, so that one seemed to be looking into an abyss. A slight mustache and pointed beard partly concealed the ironical smile that played on his passionate lips. The natural grace of good manners and quiet but admirably cut clothes completed the young man's exterior, behind which, in spite of all his reticence, could be divined a haughty and exceptional nature. A more profound psychologist would have seen in him an obstinately passionate, ungrateful nature, which takes from others everything it desires, demanding it from them as a right and without even a nod of acknowledgment. Such was Count Nicholas Kallash.
A few days after the reception at Prince Shadursky's Baroness von Doring was installed in a handsome apartment on Mokhovoi Street, at which her "brother," Ian Karozitch, or, to give him his former name, Bodlevski, was a frequent visitor. By a "lucky accident" he had met on the day following the reception our old friend Sergei Antonovitch Kovroff, the "captain of the Golden Band." Their recognition was mutual, and, after a more or less faithful recital of the events of the intervening years, they had entered into an offensive and defensive alliance.
When Baroness von Doring was comfortably settled in her new quarters, Sergei Antonovitch brought a visitor to Bodlevski: none other than the Hungarian nobleman, Count Nicholas Kallash.
"Gentlemen, you are strangers; let me introduce you to each other,"said Kovroff, presenting Count Kallash to Bodlevski.
