ddenly Davilof's grip tightened.

"You beautiful thing!" he exclaimed huskily. "Magda----"

The next moment, with a swift, ungoverned movement, he caught her to him
and was crushing her in his arms.

"Antoine! . . . Let me go!"

But the pressure of her soft, pulsing body against his own sent the
blood racing through his veins. He smothered the words with his mouth
on hers, kissing her breathless with a headlong passion that defied
restraint--slaking his longing for her as a man denied water may at last
slake his thirst at some suddenly discovered pool.

Magda felt herself powerless as a leaf caught up in a whirlwind--swept
suddenly into the hot vehemence of a man's desire while she was yet
unstrung and quivering from the emotional strain of the Swan-Maiden's
dance, every nerve of her quickened to a tingling sentience by the
underlying passion of the music.

With an effort she wrenched herself out of his arms and ran from him
blindly into the furthest corner of the room. She had no clear idea of
making for the door, but only of getting away--anywhere--heedless of
direction. An instant later she was standing with her back to the wall,
leaning helplessly against the ancient tapestry that clothed it. In
that dim corner of the vast room her slim figure showed faintly limned
against its blurred greens and greys like that of some pallid statue.

"Go . . . go away!" she gasped.

Davilof laughed triumphantly. Nothing could hold him now. The barriers
of use and habit were down irrevocably.

"Go away?" he said. "No, I'm not going away."

He strode straight across the space that intervened between them. She
watched his coming with dilated eyes. Her hands, palms downwards, were
pressed hard against the woven surface of the tapestry on either side of
her.

As he approached she shrank back, her whole body taut and straining
against the wall. Then she bent her head and flung up her arms, curving
them to shield her face. Davilof could just see the rounded whiteness
of them, glimmering like pale pearl next the satin sheen of night-black
hair.

With a stifled cry he sprang forward and gripped them in his strong,
supple hands, drawing them down inexorably.

"Kiss me!" he demanded fiercely. "Magda, kiss me!"

She shook her head, struggling for speech.

"No!" she gasped. "No!"

She glanced desperately round, but he had her hemmed in, prisoned
against the wall.

"Kiss me!" he repeated unsteadily. "You--you'd better, Magd