"She wants to escape from here," he thought.
"Suppose I were to tell you that I am engaged in dangerous work?" he
uttered slowly.
She pressed the cat to her threadbare bosom with a breathless
exclamation. "Ah!" Then not much above a whisper: "Under Peter
Ivanovitch?"
"No, not under Peter Ivanovitch."
He read admiration in her eyes, and made an effort to smile.
"Then--alone?"
He held up his closed hand with the index raised. "Like this finger," he
said.
She was trembling slightly. But it occurred to Razumov that they might
have been observed from the house, and he became anxious to be gone. She
blinked, raising up to him her puckered face, and seemed to beg mutely
to be told something more, to be given a word of encouragement for her
starving, grotesque, and pathetic devotion.
"Can we be seen from the house?" asked Razumov confidentially.
She answered, without showing the slightest surprise at the question--
"No, we can't, on account of this end of the stables." And she added,
with an acuteness which surprised Razumov, "But anybody looking out of
an upstairs window would know that you have not passed through the gates
yet."
"Who's likely to spy out of the window?" queried Razumov. "Peter
Ivanovitch?"
She nodded.
"Why should he trouble his head?"
"He expects somebody this afternoon.
Pages:
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302