He said no more, but turning abruptly, walked back to his desk.
Patouchki sat immovable for a long time. Ivor's suggestion had fallen upon him with almost crushing certainty, while mingled with the sense of humiliation and irritation at being outwitted, was also the feeling of pain and sorrow that he, who had thus outwitted him, should be the one in whom he had most implicitly trusted.
Like Olga Naundorff, there appeared to him no room for doubt. Ivor's very appearance, his boyish _insouciance_ and frank bearing, were but additional witnesses to that other's treachery. And yet, and yet, could it be true? Should he not do well to wait just a little longer before condemning the absent? Could he but find the woman, could he but put his hand upon her! Were she really in Petersburg now, what greater evidence of perfidy could he desire, with those damning proofs in the shape of recent despatches and cables lying now on his desk? He turned at last, and spoke with apparent effort.
"Tolskoi, your warning is understood. Find me the woman, here in Petersburg, and I shall then know how to act."
"I will find her," replied Ivor, with stern brevity; and, accepting Patouchki's words as a dismissal, he bowed and left the room.
Late that same evening Tolskoi made his appearance at the Palace, in the outer _salon_, where he found the usual gathering of officials and _dames d'honneur_ with their invited guests. His reception was a flattering one, and his return to the _beau-mondaine_ circles hailed with acclamation.
The heavy curtains to the inner _salon_ were closely drawn, indicative of the Tsar and Tsarina's desire to remain unmolested for the present. The evening was very warm, and most of the long windows stood open, the wind gently swaying the light draperies.
Beneath the casements the Neva crept by in slow rippling motion; the moonlight falling athwart its grey opaqueness, woke here and there sudden gleams of radiance. It struck also across the blank stone wall of the Trubetskoi bastion, accentuating its grim outlines, and, shooting far upwards, tipped the lance-like spire of Peter's Fortress with golden fire.
The Countess Vera was the first to welcome Tolskoi, smiling up at him, as she did so, and waving her great fan of scented lace to and fro languidly.