“The Frenchman threatened him, Your Excellency,” replied the sheriff, “and made him swear that he would preserve silence.”
“A pack of lies!” exclaimed Kirila Petrovitch: “I will have this mystery cleared up immediately. Where is the tutor?” he asked of a servant who entered at that moment.
“He cannot be found anywhere,” replied the servant.
“Then search for him!” cried Troekouroff, beginning to entertain doubts.
“Show me your vaunted description,” said he to the sheriff, who immediately handed him the paper.
“Hm! hm! twenty-three years old, etc., etc. That is so, but yet that does not prove anything. Well, what about the tutor?”
“He is not to be found,” was again the answer.
Kirila Petrovitch began to be uneasy; Maria Kirilovna was neither dead nor alive.
“You are pale, Masha,” remarked her father to her; “have they frightened you?”
“No, papa,” replied Masha; “I have a headache.”