Tamara and her godmother did not meet until nearly lunchtime next day.
A little before that meal the Princess came into her room. Tamara was
still in bed, perfectly exhausted with the strain of the night. The
Princess wore an anxious look of care, as she walked from the window to
the dressing table and then back again. Finally she sat down and took
up a glove which was lying on a cushion near.

"Tamara, you saw I talked last night with Valonne, and this morning I
sent for Serge Grekoff, but he would not come, so I got Valonne again."
She paused an instant. "I was extremely worried last night about
Gritzko. I dare say you were not to blame, dear, but--"

"Please tell me, Marraine," and poor Tamara sat up and pushed her hair
back.

"It appears, as far at I can gather, they all dined at the Fontonka
house--Boris Varishkine and Gritzko have always been great friends--and
at the end of dinner--Valonne imagines, because no one is sure what
took place between them at this stage--Gritzko, it is supposed, said to
Boris in quite an amiable way that he did not wish him to dance the
Mazurka with you, but to relinquish his right in his--Gritzko's--
favor."

She paused again, and Tamara's eyes fixed themselves in fascinated fear
on her face. The Princess, after smoothing out the glove in her hand
with a nervous energy, went on: "They had all had quite enough champagne, of course, and apparently
Boris refused, and suggested that they should toss up, and whoever won
the toss should have first shot in the dark."