"Vasili!" exclaimed the lady, in passionate surprise. "Vasili! and they
have not told me!"
She trembled all over, while her eyes blazed green flames of anger and
excitement. "If it is unnecessary they shall feel the whip for this."
Her cloak had fallen aside a little, disclosing a shimmer of purple
garment and flashing emeralds. She looked barbaric, her raven brows knit.
It might have been Cleopatra commanding the instant death of an offending
slave.
It made Paul's pulses bound, it seemed so of the picture and the night.
All was a mad dream of exotic emotion, and this was just an extra note.
But who was Vasili? And what did his presence portend? Something fateful
at all events.
The lady did not speak further, only by the quiver of her nostrils and the
gleam in her eyes he knew how deeply she was stirred.
Yes, one or the other would feel the whip, if they had been over-zealous
in their duties!
It seemed out of sheer defiance of some fate that she decided to go on
into the lagoon when they passed San Georgio. It was growing late, and
Paul's thoughts had turned to greater joys. He longed to clasp her in his
arms, to hold her, and prove her his own. But she sat there, her small
head held high, and her eyes fearless and proud--thus he did not dare to
plead with her.
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