Then she spoke of the change in my sister's conduct; how a word from me had made her friendly where a thousand words before had failed. And when she spoke and thought of Olga, she seemed to lose again all self-control; declaring she had been made a tool and a dupe of for some purposes of our own.
My protestations were of no avail. She brushed them aside with abrupt contempt, and when I tried to find out indirectly what her proof was, she laughed angrily and would not tell me.
"I will tell you when I bid you good-bye for Siberia, or see you for the last time in the condemned cell. You shall not die in ignorance," she said: and then she went on to dwell with horrible detail upon the punishments that were in store for both Olga and myself.
But she overdid it all; and shewed me her weak point. She thus gave me a clue to my best tactics. Her feeling was not hate of me, but jealousy of Olga. This strange and most impulsive woman had had her love tricked as well as her judgment; and the love which she had had for Olga's brother was now transferred to me. Her chief fear was lest Olga was really to come between us. When she stopped, I tested her.
"You have found a ridiculous mare's nest," I said, with a short laugh. "And I have something more important to do than to listen to your fictions. If you think there is any truth in the thing, by all means tell all you know. But I warn you beforehand you will fail—fail ignominiously: and what is more, lose all you have said you wish to gain. My great object now is to get Olga out of the country, so that I may be free to carry out my plans."
She looked up as I spoke, and I saw the light of hope in her eyes.
"That you may follow her, I suppose you mean?"
"You can suppose what you please," I answered, shortly. "If you wish to break off all between us by this ridiculous story, do so. But bear in mind, it is your act, not mine; and when once done, done irrevocably."
She wrung her hands in indecision.
"Can I trust you?"