When she saw him come up the last flight of stairs she flung both
her arms up excitedly, then clasped her hands before her face.
"Kirylo Sidorovitch--little father--what have you been doing? And such
a quiet young man, too! The police are just gone this moment after
searching your rooms."
Razumov gazed down at her with silent, scrutinizing attention. Her puffy
yellow countenance was working with emotion. She screwed up her eyes at
him entreatingly.
"Such a sensible young man! Anybody can see you are sensible. And
now--like this--all at once.... What is the good of mixing yourself
up with these Nihilists? Do give over, little father. They are unlucky
people."
Razumov moved his shoulders slightly.
"Or is it that some secret enemy has been calumniating you, Kirylo
Sidorovitch? The world is full of black hearts and false denunciations
nowadays. There is much fear about."
"Have you heard that I have been denounced by some one?" asked Razumov,
without taking his eyes off her quivering face.
But she had not heard anything. She had tried to find out by asking
the police captain while his men were turning the room upside down. The
police captain of the district had known her for the last eleven years
and was a humane person. But he said to her on the landing, looking very
black and vexed--
"My good woman, do not ask questions.
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