“What do you want of me, you cruel man?” I sobbed. “What am I to do? Do you wish me to tell everything to Kamarowsky? To break off the marriage and return to Moscow with you?”
“We cannot return to Moscow, and you know it,” growled Prilukoff.
“Somewhere else, then. Anywhere! I will go wherever you like, I will do whatever you like. Anything, anything, rather than endure this torture any longer.”
“For the present we stay here,” declared Prilukoff, who seemed to enjoy my anguish. “And as for the future,” he added, rolling his terrible eyes, “you can leave that to me.”
Sometimes he forbade me to go out with Kamarowsky. At other times he followed us in the streets, torturing me behind the unconscious back of my betrothed, who marveled and grieved at my extraordinary and frequently absurd behavior.
Early one morning, as I looked out of my window, I saw Kamarowsky standing on the terrace, gazing thoughtfully out at the sea. I ran down to him. We were alone. “Paul,” I whispered hurriedly, “let us go away from here; let us leave quietly, to-day, without saying a word to any one.”
He laughed. “What a romantic idea! Do you not like this place? Are you not happy here?”
“No, Paul, no! There is some one spying upon me.”
“Spying upon you?” he repeated, greatly astonished. “Is that the reason of your strange behavior?”
“Yes, yes, but do not ask me any more questions.”