Petrovitch knew well enough that when the heart's cords are stretched almost unbearably by the strain of an intense emotion, it sometimes stems as though they could only be saved from giving way altogether by the direction of the mind to some utterly trivial detail of everyday life. Many a woman's heart has been saved from breaking by the necessity of getting the children's dinner, and many a tragedy has been averted by the chief actor's having to take in the afternoon's milk.
Petrovitch repeated the question, 'Can't we have some tea?'
The other rose mechanically, went to a cupboard, and brought out a plated kettle and spirit-lamp, a small china tea set, and a plate of lemons, with a silver knife. He put these appliances on the table in an unmethodical, untidy sort of way, and was proceeding to light the spirit-lamp, when Petrovitch, who had been watching him with a smile, took the match-box out of his hand.
'Here, let me make tea. I see you are just as unsystematic as ever.' He lighted the lamp, and with a few deft touches put the rest of the tea-things in order, as the other, leaving the matter in his hands, strode up and down the room.
'Oh, what is to be the end of all this?' he said at length; 'how long am I to go on bearing your name?'
'All this will soon be at an end, as far as I am concerned. I have nearly completed my arrangements for getting back to Russia, and when I'm there you may guess it won't matter to me who bears my name. I shall not wish to use it. But while I am here I wish to be Petrovitch. Indeed, you can serve me best by letting it be as widely known as possible that Count Litvinoff is—well, where you are and not where I am, and after all it's nobody's business but yours and mine.'
'Does no one else know of it at all?'
'Only two men in St Petersburg, and one in London.'
'And he is?'
'Hirsch, whom you've seen, I think.'