“I am Lavinia Turgeno. Would you wish anything of me? My servant is dumb. She could make no answer to you.”
It was a voice worthy of her white throat. Once, in a cathedral in Petrograd, Simeon had heard an organ. Her voice was like that, heavenly harmony.
At Moscow, Simeon was an intrepid youth. The glamor of jewels, the eyes of vain women, the prestige of titled names were only molehills to the fearless youth. Here, isolated from all social revelry, an unaffected, unadorned woman made him feel like a penitent schoolboy in the august presence of a new teacher. He recalled his dust-covered attire, his disheveled hair, and a new wave of despair and agitation played havoc with him.
“My servant will give you to eat. You must be hungry. The way to Kravetz is long. It is best you lodge here for the night. She will look to your comfort. Good night.”
She was gone. There was an ebbing rustle and a vanishing atmosphere redolent of roses, and he was left alone. He swallowed with ease again. His heartbeat gradually subsided to normal. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“You fool. You square-headed idiot,” he hatefully denounced himself just as soon as he realized his tongue was at his own disposal once more. “Can’t you talk to a lady when you see one?”
The servant interrupted his soliloquy. He followed her. The savory table reminded him of his neglected stomach. He set to it avidly. But not for long. There was no relish in his eating. Her visionary presence made everything else but looking at her distasteful.
The crone showed him to his room. He was tired. He lay in bed. He could not sleep. The darkness was ablaze with her face, Lavinia—Lavinia! Would she appear at breakfast? He could not leave without one more sight of her. Lavinia! Who could have selected a more suitable name? Her eyes would enslave all Moscow. Gad! If he could bring her out! Lavinia! A wonderfully charming name.
From that memorable night Simeon’s heart knew no peace. He loved the lady with a madness that recognized no bounds. Like every other man, he fell to wondering why such a charming woman should seclude herself, and with a dumb servant live the life of a recluse. Why had she refused in marriage such men as had come to her from marble halls, and laden with purses heavy with gold? She was a lady with heart of stone, they said.
Simeon came again without being invited. He came many times. This was not to her liking. But Simeon was persistent. And Simeon had brown eyes and a stiff little mustache. She liked to see his mouth twitch. He smiled often and showed wonderful teeth.
Despite her aloofness and coldness toward him, Simeon Lavkovich would not be discouraged in his pursuit of her heart. One night, after he had said good-night, she came to the door. For a long time they looked into each other’s eyes. A fearful fire burned in Simeon. A surge of passion possessed him. He refused to steel himself against it.
He dropped his hat. He caught her to him. He pressed her fervently against him. His mouth sought hers. She resisted. She surrendered. She melted in his embrace. She felt his lips tight against hers. Her head fell back. A thick strand of hair fell away from her right ear. It exposed a dark spot, not as large as a ten cent piece, just below her ear.
Lavinia started. She struggled out of his arms. Her face was crimson.
