“Marry you!” she said, with a look that amazed him. “Are you mad?”
“But—”
“Is it possible that you didn’t know?” she said. “Couldn’t you see? That man—that saint—”
She began to weep, holding a tiny lace handkerchief to her eyes.
“One of the master minds of Russia—a noble soul—the kindest and best of men!” she sobbed. “Is it possible that[Pg 25] you think—oh, how little you know of women! You think I would replace him?”
“Replace him by you,” her tone implied.
Hardy was completely taken aback. He couldn’t speak.
“No,” she said, drying her eyes. “I have thought of nothing but him. Only help me to get away, where I shall be safe, and then forget me! I am the most unhappy wretch in the world. I have wished only to gain my living, and it seems that I have become a criminal. Only save me from this disgrace!”
“Yes, of course!” he said hurriedly. “Let me see!”
He fancied he heard a footstep on the stairs. He turned pale.