“Let’s have the fellow in here, and we’ll question him,” said he.
“He’ll be asleep by this time,” said Nadia gently. “’Twill be a pity to disturb him.”
Thus advised, Wilfrid put off his cross-examination of the yamchik till the morning, and the conversation flowed into other channels.
“Are you a vitch or an off?” asked Nadia, suddenly.
“I am not quite sure that I understand.”
“Why, look you, my father being the son of one Peter, is Boris Petroff. Now if he were a boyar he would be Boris Petrovitch.”
“I see. Well, I suppose I must put myself down among the vitches, for I am a nobleman in my own country.”
Nadia’s face fell when she heard this. In a voice that seemed to savour of resentment, she asked:—
“How many souls have you?”