‘Yes. Insarov was just eight years old at the time. He remained in the hands of neighbours. The sister heard of the fate of her brother’s family, and wanted to take the nephew to live with her. They got him to Odessa, and from there to Kiev. At Kiev he lived twelve whole years. That’s how it is he speaks Russian so well.’
‘He speaks Russian?’
‘Just as we do. When he was twenty (that was at the beginning of the year 1848) he began to want to return to his country. He stayed in Sophia and Tirnova, and travelled through the length and breadth of Bulgaria, spending two years there, and learning his mother tongue over again. The Turkish Government persecuted him, and he was certainly exposed to great dangers during those two years; I once caught sight of a broad scar on his neck, from a wound, no doubt; but he does not like to talk about it. He is reserved, too, in his own way. I have tried to question him about everything, but I could get nothing out of him. He answers by generalities. He’s awfully obstinate. He returned to Russia again in 1850, to Moscow, with the intention of educating himself thoroughly, getting intimate with Russians, and then when he leaves the university——’
‘What then?’ broke in Elena.
‘What God wills. It’s hard to forecast the future.’
For a while Elena did not take her eyes off Bersenyev.
‘You have greatly interested me by what you have told me,’ she said. ‘What is he like, this friend of yours; what did you call him, Insarov?’
‘What shall I say? To my mind, he’s good-looking. But you will see him for yourself.’
‘How so?’
‘I will bring him here to see you. He is coming to our little village the day after tomorrow, and is going to live with me in the same lodging.’