"I have heard much of what happened at that wretched Devinsky's house. Old Fedor who went with you told me much and my brother much also; but I would rather hear all from you. Where is Olga? You were wounded, I hear. What was it? Tell me—tell me. I have been dying with anxiety for you."
I told her shortly what had happened; and then it occurred to me to try and get her help in regard to Olga. I drew a fancy picture of Olga's shattered nerves; that Moscow had become a place of terror to her; and that even Russia itself was distasteful to her for a time on Devinsky's account.
"Do you think that a man like Devinsky would dare to lay so much as a finger on one of our family?" she asked, checkmating me quietly with a single pronoun.
"It's not what Devinsky dares, but what Olga fears."
"She did not strike me as a girl of nervous fears."
"No; she does not shew it even to me."
"Then we can do better than drive the poor child away from home—punish Devinsky. Tell her that he is already under arrest."
"Is that so, indeed?" I asked, in some astonishment.
"Certainly; his murderous attack on you when you were on the Emperor's special duty is a crime that will cost him dear. Those who play us false, Lieutenant Petrovitch, must beware of us. But our friends find the ways made easy for them. Did not my brother tell you that Olga was to be protected as one of us, and therefore avenged, if wronged?"
"She will be glad to feel safe," I replied quietly. I knew what she meant; and with a look that seemed to imply much, I added:—"I am glad to be one of your friends." I was getting such an adept in the suggestion of a lie, that much more practice would make it difficult for me to tell the plain truth.