ONE NIGHT
Marie Ivanovna herself spoke to me of Semyonov. She found me alone waiting for my morning tea. We were before the others, and could hear, in the next room, Molozov splashing water about the floor and crying to Michail, his servant, to pour "Yestsho! Yestsho!" "Yestsho! Yestsho!"—"Still more! Still more," over his head.
She stood in the doorway looking as though she hated my presence.
"The others have not arrived," I said. "It's late to-day."
"I can see," she answered. "Every one is idle now."
Then her voice changed. She came across to me. We talked of unimportant things for a while. Then she said: "I'm very happy, Mr. Durward.... Be kind about it. Alexei Petrovitch and I...." She hesitated.
I looked at her and saw that she was again the young and helpless girl whom I had not seen since that early morning before our first battle. I said, very lamely, "If you are happy, Marie Ivanovna, I am glad."
"You think it terrible of me," she said swiftly. "And why do you all talk of being happy? What does that matter? But I can trust him. He's strong and afraid of nothing."
I could say nothing.
"Of course you think me very bad—that I have treated —John—shamefully—yes?... I will not defend myself to you. What is there to defend? John and I could never have lived together, never. You yourself must see that."