"Directly I saw you for the first time I was comforted. You took your
hat off to me. You looked as if one could trust you. Oh!"
She shrank before Razumov's savage snarl of, "I have heard something
like this before."
She was so confounded that she could do nothing but blink for a long
time.
"It was your humane manner," she explained plaintively. "I have been
starving for, I won't say kindness, but just for a little civility, for
I don't know how long. And now you are angry...."
"But no, on the contrary," he protested. "I am very glad you trust me.
It's possible that later on I may..."
"Yes, if you were to get ill," she interrupted eagerly, "or meet some
bitter trouble, you would find I am not a useless fool. You have only to
let me know. I will come to you. I will indeed. And I will stick to you.
Misery and I are old acquaintances--but this life here is worse than
starving."
She paused anxiously, then in a voice for the first time sounding really
timid, she added--
"Or if you were engaged in some dangerous work. Sometimes a humble
companion--I would not want to know anything. I would follow you with
joy. I could carry out orders. I have the courage."
Razumov looked attentively at the scared round eyes, at the withered,
sallow, round cheeks. They were quivering about the corners of the
mouth.
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