But his whole face became distorted with apprehension.
“All the same,” said Doulebov in his thin voice, “he possesses great powers. He can do what he likes.”
The Vice-Governor looked gloomily at Poterin and said morosely:
“He’s going to pull you all up.”
Poterin grew deathly pale and broke out into perspiration. The conversation about the Marquis Teliatnikov continued, and the local revolutionary ferment was mentioned in the course of it.
Revolutionary proclamations had appeared in all the woods of the neighbourhood. Large pieces of bark were cut off the trees and proclamations pasted on. It was impossible to remove these bills, which were overrun by a thin, transparent coating of resin. The zealous preservers of order had either to chop out or to scrape off the obnoxious places with a knife.
“I think,” said Doulebova, “that it must be an idea of our chemist, Mr. Trirodov.”
“Of course.” She was confirmed in her suggestion by the cringing, dry-looking instructress of German.
Zinaida Grigorievna turned towards Poterina in order to show favour to her hostess by her conversation, and asked her with an amused smile:
“How do you like our celebrated Decadent?”