“Go to your own room, Masha, and don’t be alarmed.”
Masha kissed his hand and retired hastily to her room. There she threw herself upon her bed and burst into a hysterical flood of tears. The maids hastened to her assistance, undressed her with difficulty, and with difficulty succeeded in calming her by means of cold water and all possible kinds of smelling salts. They put her to bed and she fell into a slumber.
In the meantime the Frenchman could not be found. Kirila Petrovitch paced up and down the room, loudly whistling his favourite military air. The visitors whispered among themselves; the sheriff looked foolish; the Frenchman was not to be found. Probably he had managed to escape through being warned beforehand. But by whom and how? That remained a mystery.
It was eleven o’clock, but nobody thought of sleep. At last Kirila Petrovitch said angrily to the sheriff:
“Well, do you wish to stop here till daylight? My house is not an inn. It is not by any cleverness on your part, brother, that Doubrovsky will be taken—if he really be Doubrovsky. Return home, and in future be a little quicker. And it is time for you to go home, too,” he continued, addressing his guests. “Order the horses to be got ready. I want to go to bed.”
In this ungracious manner did Troekouroff take leave of his guests.
[1] A card game that was very popular on the Continent at the beginning of the present century.