The instructress tried to understand. An expression of fear showed on her flat, dull face. She asked timidly:
“Whom do you mean, Zinaida Grigorievna?”
“Whom else could I mean but Mr. Trirodov,” replied Doulebova malignantly.
The malice was all on Trirodov’s account, but nevertheless Poterina trembled with fear.
“Ah, yes, Trirodov; how then, how then....” she repeated in a worried, flustered way, and was at a loss what to say.
Doulebova said bitingly:
“Well, I don’t think he laughs very often. He ought to be to your taste.”
“To my taste!” exclaimed Poterina with a flushed face. “What are you saying, Zinaida Grigorievna! As the old saying goes: ‘The Tsar’s servant has been bent into a harness arch!’”
“Yes, he always looks askance at you and talks to no one,” said the wife of the instructor Krolikov; “but he is a very kind man.”
Doulebova turned her malignant glance upon her. Krolikova grew pale with fear, and guessed that she had not said the right thing. She corrected herself: