Danevitch closed his eyes for some moments, and drew his hand down his face like one deeply immersed in thought. Then, suddenly starting up, he answered solemnly:
‘He was done to death foully. He was strangled.’
Catherine was terribly distressed, and, sinking into a chair, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.
Mrs. Blok, who was present, was indignant, and said angrily to Danevitch:
‘Get you out of the house. You distress my daughter. She is an honest woman, and we do not want to hear anything more from you.’
‘Be not angry, good mother,’ said Danevitch. ‘Your daughter questioned, and I answered.’ Then, with sudden and startling abruptness, he asked, ‘Where is your son?’
The mother’s face grew pale, and, with evident distress and emotion, she said:
‘He is dead.’
‘Yes, one is; he moulders at the bottom of the Volga; but the living one, the living one, where is he?’
Mrs. Blok looked appalled, and drew back from this strange old man from whom nothing seemed hidden, and before she could answer, Catherine started up, passionate and flushed, and cried excitedly: