Ostrov whistled.
“Very likely, isn’t it, that you’ve come all the way from Moscow with your bare little feet,” he shouted angrily.
“We cannot tell you anything that can interest you,” said Elena coldly. “You had better apply to him personally. It would be more proper.”
Ostrov again burst into a sarcastic laugh and exclaimed:
“I can’t deny that that would be proper, my handsome barefoot one. But suppose he’s very busy, eh? How, then, would you advise me to get this interesting information I want?”
The sisters were silent and walked on rapidly. Ostrov persisted:
“You are of his colony? Unless I’m mistaken you are instructresses there. As far as one could judge from your light dresses and your contempt of footwear, I think I’m not mistaken, eh? Tell me, it’s an amusing life there, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Elisaveta, “we are not instructresses and we do not live there.”
“What a pity!” said Ostrov incredulously. “I might have told you something about Mr. Trirodov.”
He looked at the sisters attentively. They were silent.