‘Thou hast played a double game, Chelminsky,’ said he, looking very evilly at me. ‘Explain; for I trusted thee and thou hast played me false!’
‘Explain, rather, thou,’ I replied, laughing, ‘for I know not how I have offended.’
‘It has come to my knowledge,’ said Mazeppa, ‘that Vera Kurbatof was in sanctuary at the Diévitchy monastery; that she was placed there by none other than thyself, and that even when I set thee to find her, trusting thee, her hiding place was all the while known to thee, though thou didst make a show of ignorance. See! Chelminsky, a true friend should not act thus.’
‘Bah!—it is nothing, Mazeppa; you do me injustice. It is true that I placed her in sanctuary—could I have done better on your behalf? As for keeping silence, I was persuaded by Vera to tell no living soul of her hiding place. I had been dogged by some spy, remember, and this—though the rascal came off second best—so alarmed the girl that she bade me behave most cautiously.’
‘But you visited her there, my friend, more than once, and even fought—as I am informed—to protect her——’
‘Dear Heaven, would you not have done the same, man? They came to carry her to the terem, which was exactly what must at all costs be avoided! I thought to have praise and thanks from you when I should have told my tale, instead of which I am abused as though I had committed a great crime! Truly, Mazeppa, thou art an ungrateful friend, and I am sorry I toiled and bled for thy sake!’
Mazeppa gazed long and fixedly in my face. I knew well what passed in his mind. He was trying to decide whether I was fool or deceiver; whether in reality I had played a double game with Vera, or a simple one as I declared. It was difficult to preserve an even countenance. At length I could bear it no longer, and burst into laughter.
‘What ails thee this day, Mazeppa? Why dost thou gaze at me in this solemn fashion? let us have an understanding. What is in thy mind concerning me?’
‘I will tell thee what I have thought,’ he said. ‘I have greatly feared that throughout this matter thy care for Vera Kurbatof has been more for thy own sake than for mine. If it be so, Chelminsky, and thou desirest this wench for thyself, beware what thou dost, for by the saints I shall win in the end.’
‘To what purpose is all this talking,’ said I, most innocently; ‘what do I gain by befriending this wench; what is she to me? If I have done my best to save her from the terem, this has been done at thy own request.’