"If you had killed him for that speech, I could not have blamed you, my friend," answered Vera. "When I see him I will tell him something."
"I could then no longer even attempt to kill him," said Sasha, blushing hotly, "for I was helpless; we had finished fighting, and I was worsted. I thought it better to bear the disgrace of telling you this than to go back to the Red Plain in order to be shot in cold blood by Napoleon's men. I have not done with him. With God's help I will one day give him quid for his quo. Until I shall have done this I can enjoy no self-respect. With my own sword I may do better, though he has the devil's own skill." Vera considered a while, then she spoke.
"I think we will go out of Moscow; there is no longer any reason to stay here. The smoke hangs over the city in every direction; already there is more fire than all Napoleon's men can extinguish; within a fortnight the rats must make their bolt."
"We have done something, certainly, but it is not yet time to go—not for me; for you it is different; go, in God's name, Vera; I will do your work and mine. In the face of this man's insult I cannot leave Moscow."
"Yes—that is true; you cannot; we will stay, then, Sasha; I do not doubt that we shall find work to our hands. Do not search out this man, however; leave your quarrel in God's hands. Promise me you will not be rash, Sasha."
"Ah, I see you think that I have no chance against him; yet I am not a fool with the rapier, Vera, my own weapon, mind you, not his. I shall have a chance, though I admit he is very clever. If he were as clever as the prince of all the devils I must meet him."
"He is the best fencer in Paris, mon ami. What matters is your safety; oh, do not mistake me—do you think I shall esteem you less and him more because he is a little cleverer than you with tricks of the sword?" Vera laughed quite merrily. "Oh, what children men are to think so much of so small a matter," she continued; "you are not disgraced in my eyes, Sasha; I thank God for two things, the first that it occurred to Paul to vent his spite upon both of us by pricking you with his sword instead of allowing you to be shot down by the guard, and the second that his conceit was so great that he preferred sending you back with a bombastic message to giving you a fatal wound."
"Tell me truly, Vera, is this Paul he to whom you gave your heart in Paris; for God's sake, tell me truly?"
"I do not think I gave my heart in Paris. Perhaps I fancied that my heart was in danger where no danger existed. He is the man who caused me thus to search my feelings—well, I have searched them."
"And the result?" Sasha murmured.