It was all done in
the most matter-of-fact way possible. As he had told Arithelli when
they had talked up at Montserrat, one only kissed the hands of a Marie
Spiridonova. And he was sending bouquets as to some _mondaine_ of the
vanished world and of his youth.
He shrugged and walked slowly on. In passing the house where Michael
Furness lodged, he stopped to leave a message as to Arithelli's
condition, and the advisability of another visit.
When "_The Witch_" touched at Corfu for letters Count Vladimir found
among them one that twisted afresh the thread of two destinies--his own
and that of a woman. His companion had still the same features and
colouring of the boy who had sung at night under the stars in the
harbour of Barcelona. Pauline Souvaroff still sang through the hours
between dusk and dawn, but her disguise had been discarded, and now
soft skirts trailed as she passed, and the cropped fair hair had grown
and twisted into little rings. Her secret had been no secret to Emile,
though Arithelli with her trick of taking everything for granted had
never guessed that Paul, the singer, was other than the boy he
professed to be.
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