and she and the bishop have finished all the fine combinations before they were ever begun!  And you, you others, imps of hell, to play that old foolish game again!  But take care, my friends, take care; there is one watching you, one waiting for you, who does not speak, but who strikes!  Ah, it is a pretty game; you, you sullen brute; you, you fop and dandy; but when you are sitting silent round the board, behold a dagger flashes down and quivers into the wood!  No wonder your eyes burn! you do not know whence it has come?  But the steel-blade quivers; is it a warning?”

He laughed aloud, but there were still omnibuses and cabs in the street; so he was not heard.  Indeed, the people who were on the pavement were hurrying past to get out of the rain, and took no notice of the old albino in the voluminous cloak.

“Natalushka,” said he, quite as if he were addressing some one before him, “do you know that I am trudging through the mud of this infernal city all for you?  And you, little sybarite, are among the fine ladies of the reading-room at the hotel, and listening to music, and the air all scented around you.  Never mind; if only I had a little bird that could fly to you with a message—­ah, would you not have pleasant dreams to-night?  Did I not tell you to rely on Calabressa?  He chatters to you; he tries to amuse you; but he is not always Policinella.  No, not always Policinella:  sometimes he is silent and cunning; sometimes—­what do you think?—­he is a conjurer.  Oh yes, you are not seen, you are not heard; but when you have them round the board, whirr! comes the gleaming blade and quivers in the wood!  You look round; the guilty one shakes with the palsy; his wits go; his startled tongue confesses.  Then you laugh; you say, ‘That is well done;’ you say, ’Were they wrong in giving this affair to Calabressa?’”

Now, whether it was that his rapid walking helped to relieve him of this over-excitement, or whether it was that the soaking rain began to make him uncomfortable, he was much more staid in demeanor when he got up to the little lane in Oxford Street where the Culturverein held its meetings.  Of course, he did not knock and demand admission.  He stopped some way down the street, on the other side, where he found shelter from the rain in a door-way, and whence he could readily observe any one coming out from the hall of the Verein.  Then he succeeded in lighting a cigarette.

It was a miserable business, this waiting in the cold, damp night air; but sometimes he kept thinking of how he would approach Reitzei in the expected interview; and sometimes he thought of Natalie; and again, with his chilled and dripping fingers he would manage to light a cigarette.  Again and again the door of the hall was opened, and this or the other figure came out from the glare of the gas into the dark street; but so far no Reitzei.  It was now nearly one in the morning.

Finally, about a quarter past one, the last batch of boon companions came out, and the lights within were extinguished.  Calabressa followed this gay company, who were laughing and joking despite the rain, for a short way; but it was clear that neither Beratinsky nor Reitzei was among them.  Then he turned, and made his way to his own lodgings, where he arrived tired, soaked through, but not apparently disheartened.