“You have paused twice on that word, monsieur,” he exclaimed irritably.
“You see this news puts us back to where we were before, and my wife is still resolved to clear her father’s memory. And so am I.”
“You will do most wisely if you go, I repeat.”
“I do not think she will go until that is done. I should not, and I should not counsel her to do so, either.”
“I am not accustomed to speak without full meaning, monsieur, and again I advise you to leave Russia.”
“And if we do not take the advice?”
His answer was a gesture from which I might deduce what I pleased. It was all very subtly and cleverly acted; as cleverly as if the situation had arisen quite unexpectedly.
He had so manœuvred that the papers were, as he believed, now within his reach. He felt that he could compel us to give them up or have them taken from us, and then deal with us as he pleased. He was probably calculating that I must be discussing the new situation embarrassed by a knowledge of this power of his; and I therefore began to manifest some slight uneasiness.
“I wish to be your friend,” he said at length.
“I am sure of that. You have given me a striking proof—I mean in my marriage. We were scarcely friendly before that,” I added with a forced and somewhat nervous laugh. “But I feel rather embarrassed.”