Byelovzorov was silent a minute. 'I should kill myself.. . .'
Zinaïda laughed. 'I see yours is not a long story.'
The next forfeit was Zinaïda's. She looked at the ceiling and considered. 'Well, listen, she began at last, 'what I have thought of. . . . Picture to yourselves a magnificent palace, a summer night, and a marvellous ball. This ball is given by a young queen. Everywhere gold and marble, crystal, silk, lights, diamonds, flowers, fragrant scents, every caprice of luxury.'
'You love luxury?' Lushin interposed.
'Luxury is beautiful,' she retorted; 'I love everything beautiful.'
'More than what is noble?' he asked.
'That's something clever, I don't understand it. Don't interrupt me. So the ball is magnificent. There are crowds of guests, all of them are young, handsome, and brave, all are frantically in love with the queen.'
'Are there no women among the guests?' queried Malevsky.
'No—or wait a minute—yes, there are some.'
'Are they all ugly?'
'No, charming. But the men are all in love with the queen. She is tall and graceful; she has a little gold diadem on her black hair.'
I looked at Zinaïda, and at that instant she
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