Meantime, several days passed by. Rakitina, ceaselessly without respite, went about gathering all the information she could, regretting neither time nor money, but all was of no avail.
“I can see, Irena Lvovna,” said Father Peter to his guest one day, “that you are constantly going about, first to one, then to another, troubling yourself and all for nothing. I have heard it said that the empress will not be here for some time yet; why should you not write to the superior officer of Pavel Efstafitch, to Moscow? may not the Count Orloff know of something?”
“Thank you, Father,” answered Rakitina, bowing. “Let us pray God that we may learn something about that unfortunate ship without a crew, and if no one else were saved, perhaps Konsov.… Yesterday Count Pânin promised me to get some information from a foreign Marine Department—in Spain—in Madeira; Von Viesing, the author, has also offered his services. Shall I not hear of something? I shall wait a little longer; still I ought to be going home, but how can I go without any hope! Oh! that unfortunate ship, it haunts me night and day!…”
CHAPTER XXVII.
A LATE VISITOR.
The evening of the 1st of December, 1775, was particularly wet and windy. The snow which had fallen in the morning was now all melted; there were pools of water everywhere; the few and far between carriages and pedestrians gloomily splashed along the streets. There was a storm. The wind howled over the house of the priest, shaking the shutters, and bending the enormous trees in the garden of the Hetman. The Neva was swollen; an inundation was imminent. From time to time could be heard the gloomy sound of the cannon from the fortress.
Father Peter was in the attic with the girls, and very thoughtful. The conversation could not be kept up to the accompaniment of the howling wind; it frequently had to be broken. Vâra was telling the cards; Irena appeared very displeased, and was relating with a very discontented face what leeches the secretaries in the Foreign Department were, the interpreters, and even the very scribes. Notwithstanding the orders and personal interest of Count Pânin, they had as yet done nothing in Spain or on the islands. Projects were made on paper, copied, translated, everything, only to drag on.
“You should just oil a little … through the servants, or somehow,” said the priest.