'Love! I love Chernychev?'
'If you do not love him you are giving a fair imitation of it. But I begin to think imitations are your stock-in-trade. Did you do another for your mysterious husband?'
Marianne sighed wearily. 'I thought I had told you all about my marriage. Must I tell you again? Except in the chapel where the service was performed, and where I saw nothing of him beyond one gloved hand, I have never met Prince Sant'Anna. And let me remind you, if you had received a certain letter in time, there would have been no wedding to the prince…'
She broke off as Jason began to laugh, hard, painful laughter, rasping like a false note on a violin:
'After what I have seen here tonight, I may thank heaven that letter did not reach me. Because of it, I have been able to save Pilar from a fate she had done nothing to deserve, while as for you, I think you are best left to a future which does not seem altogether repugnant to you, and which seems to me, considering the ease with which you are able to transfer your affections, to be no more than you deserve.'
'Jason!'
Marianne sprang to her feet. Her face changed from crimson to white and her fingers clenched on the fragile sticks of her costly fan. There was a pathetic little cracking sound as the sticks snapped. She fought with all her strength to keep back the tears which started to her eyes from a heart overflowing with unhappiness. Whatever happened, he must not be allowed to see how deeply he had hurt her… For she was too much hurt to see that his words had sprung from a bitter, yet reassuring, jealousy. She groped briefly, but in vain, for a biting reply, to give back blow for blow, hurt for hurt and blood for blood. Before she could speak, a tall, green-clad figure had interposed itself between herself and Jason:
'You have just insulted both Her Serene Highness and myself. It is too much. I regret only that I am unable to kill you more than once.'
Chernychev's accent sounded a little thicker, his manner was a little more dramatic, but he was making a visible effort to control his temper. Jason faced him with a faint, contemptuous smile which only added to the Russian's rage:
'It does not occur to you that I might possibly kill you?'
'Never,' Chernychev said simply. 'Death is a woman. She will do as I wish…'
Jason laughed. 'If you rely on a woman, you will be disappointed. Nevertheless, I do not go back on my word. I am at your service, Sir. Although I was not aware it was your habit to listen at keyholes.'
'No!' Marianne stepped quickly between the two men. 'No! Please! I won't let you fight over me!'
Chernychev took the hand which she had laid instinctively on his arm and dropped a swift kiss upon it:
'Permit me to disobey you for once, Madame.'
'And suppose I were to add my entreaties, eh?' Talleyrand had entered the box hard on the Russian's heels and now he continued in his leisurely tones: 'I do not care to have my friends slay one another…'
This time, it was Jason who answered:
'Just so. You know us both too well, Prince, not to have known that this was bound to happen, sooner or later.'
'That may be so, but I should prefer it to be later.' He turned to Marianne as he added: 'Come, Madame, I am sure you cannot wish to remain here. I will escort you to your carriage.'
'Will you wait for me?' the Russian interposed quickly. 'Give me a moment to settle this affair and I will be with you.'
In silence, Marianne allowed him to place the great wrap of dull red velvet which had lain over the back of her chair around her shoulders, then, placing her hand on the Prince of Benevento's arm, she left the box, without a glance for either of the two prospective adversaries. The curtain was just rising on the next act and her exit was therefore accomplished without attracting more than a minimum of attention.
As she made her way slowly down the great staircase, empty except for the footmen standing rigidly between the tall torcheres, Marianne gave way to her misery and anger.
'What have I done?' she cried. 'Why is Jason so angry with me? Why does he despise me so? I thought…'
'One must be very old or exist in a very rarefied atmosphere to be immune from jealousy. Quite between ourselves, wasn't it really what you wanted? If not, what devil prompted you to show yourself here tonight alone with Sasha?'
'You are quite right,' Marianne admitted. 'I did want to make Jason jealous… He is so changed since this senseless marriage to Pilar…'
'And changed you, also, it seems. Come, Marianne. Stop tormenting yourself. We have to learn to take the consequences of our actions, eh? In any event, Chernychev may be an experienced duellist, but this time I think that he may well find he has met his match.'
Stop tormenting herself! Talleyrand was an optimist! Alone in the cushioned darkness of her carriage, Marianne abandoned herself to her fury. She loathed them alclass="underline" Chernychev for, in her view, meddling in what did not concern him; Jason for treating her so unkindly when she had longed for a kind word, a look, such very little things; all those people who must have been following every moment of the quarrel with eyes agog at the prospect of a juicy scandal to relate; but most of all she loathed herself for the childish vanity which had caused so much trouble…
'I must have been mad,' she told herself. 'And yet, I did not know then that love could hurt so. And now what if Chernychev should wound Jason or even—' Her mind shied away from the thought. Then it occurred to her that she was even then sitting there like a fool waiting for the Russian when she hated him at that moment with her whole heart, and she leaned forward to give Gracchus the word.
'Home, Gracchus. And hurry!'
As the vehicle began to move, Chernychev emerged from the pillared entrance to the theatre, gained the step with one bound and fell rather than jumped inside.
'You were leaving without me! Why did you do that?'
'Because I did not wish to see you again tonight. Please get out.' She raised her voice: 'Gracchus! Stop!'
Half-kneeling on the floor at her feet, Chernychev looked up at her in surprise:
'You want me to get out? But why? You are angry with me? Yet by challenging the man who dared to insult you I was doing no more than my duty.'
'Your duty did not require you to interfere in a private conversation. I have never needed any assistance in defending myself! But just remember this: if Jason Beaufort is even wounded I shall never forgive you, and I will never see you again as long as I live!'
Chernychev did not stir but Marianne could see his eyes glittering in the dimness of the carriage, narrow green slits, luminous as cats' eyes in the dark. Slowly, he stood up, and it felt to Marianne as if some huge bird of prey were hanging over her, filling the small, scented satin-lined interior with its presence. But already, the Russian had opened the door and sprung down into the road. He stood for a moment with his white-gloved hands gripping the door frame, looking up at her, half-smiling. His voice, when he spoke, was infinitely gentle:
'You were right to warn me, Marianne. I will not wound Monsieur Beaufort, I promise you that…' He leapt back and, sweeping off his cocked hat, made an elaborate bow. His voice sank to a caressing murmur: 'Tomorrow morning I shall do myself the honour of killing him.'
'If you dare—'
'Oh, I shall dare… since there appears to be no other way of removing him from your thoughts. With him dead, I shall know how to make you love me.'
In spite of the fear and anger that clutched at her heart, Marianne stiffened, flung up her chin and stared very deliberately at Chernychev from the vantage point of the carriage. She succeeded in summoning up an icy smile:
'Do not be too sure. You will have very little time, my dear Count. For if Jason Beaufort dies tomorrow by your hand, believe me, before I make an end of a life which will have ceased to be of any interest to me, I shall make it my business to kill you with my own hands. I should tell you, perhaps, that I am accounted as good a shot as any man… Good night to you. Home, Gracchus!'