"Varvara! Where's the envelope?"
"What envelope?" asked Varvara in a trembling voice.
She looked at Peredonov insolently and would have flushed had she not been already rouged.
"The envelope, from the Princess, of the letter you gave me to-day," explained Peredonov, with a look half-frightened, half-malignant.
Varvara gave a forced laugh.
"I burnt it. What good was it to me?" she said. "Why should I keep it? I'm not making a collection of envelopes. You can't get any money for envelopes. You can only get money for empty bottles at a pub."
Peredonov walked gloomily about the rooms and growled:
"There are all sorts of Princesses—we know that. Perhaps this Princess lives here."
Varvara pretended not to understand his suspicions, but yet trembled violently.
When, towards evening, Peredonov strolled past Vershina's cottage, she stopped him.