‘Oh, you noticed it?’—Musa sighed. ‘He cannot help being worried. I need hardly tell you that Paramon Semyonitch has remained faithful to his principles.... The present condition of affairs can but strengthen them.’ (Musa expressed herself quite differently now from in the old days in Moscow; there was a literary, bookish flavour in her phrases.) ‘I don’t know, though, whether I can rely upon you, and how you will receive ...’
‘Why should you imagine you cannot rely upon me?’
‘Well, you are in the government service—you are an official.’
‘Well, what of that?’
‘You are, consequently, loyal to the government.’
I marvelled inwardly ... at Musa’s innocence. ‘As to my attitude to the government, which is not even aware of my existence, I won’t enlarge upon that,’ I observed; ‘but you may set your mind at rest. I will make no bad use of your confidence. I sympathise with your husband’s ideas ... more than you suppose.’
Musa shook her head.
‘Yes; that’s all so,’ she began, not without hesitation; ‘but you see it’s like this. Paramon Semyonitch’s ideas will shortly, it may be, find expression in action. They can no longer be hidden under a bushel. There are comrades whom we cannot now abandon ...’
Musa suddenly ceased speaking, as though she had bitten her tongue. Her last words had amazed and a little alarmed me. Most likely my face showed what I was feeling—and Musa noticed it.
As I have said already, our interview took place in the year 1849. Many people still remember what a disturbed and difficult time that was, and by what incidents it was signalised in St. Petersburg. I had been struck myself by certain peculiarities in Baburin’s behaviour, in his whole demeanour. Twice he had referred to governmental action, to personages in high authority, with such intense bitterness and hatred, with such loathing, that I had been dumbfoundered....