“There is no going back. By this time all Moscow knows that I have absconded, and carried off with me the money that was confided to my care.”
“But if you go back at once and return it?”
“I am ruined all the same. I am utterly lost and undone. Who would ever place their trust in me again? Who would ever rely upon my honor? No, I am a criminal, and every one knows it. The brand of infamy is not to be cancelled by a flash of tardy remorse. I am done for. I am a thief, and that is all there is about it.”
A thief! I had never seen a thief. In my imagination thieves were all slouching, unkempt roughs, with caps on their heads, and colored handkerchiefs tied round their throats. And here was this gentleman in evening dress—this gentleman who had been introduced to me as a celebrated and impeccable lawyer, who had been my lover, and Tioka's friend, and Elise's Lohengrin—and he was a thief!
I could not believe it.
At that moment a voice was heard outside. It was one of the bell-boys of the hotel; he was passing through the corridor calling: “Forty-seven! Number forty-seven.”
Prilukoff started. “Forty-seven? That is the number of my room. Who can be asking for me? Who can know that I am here?”
In his eyes there was already the look of the fugitive, the startled flash of fear and defiance of the hunted quarry.
I looked round me at all the banknotes scattered on the carpet, and I felt myself turn cold. “Hide them, hide them,” I whispered, wringing my hands.