I withdrew my skirt from his grasp. “Not if I can be of any help to you, Baron,” I said and could not restrain a smile, he was so absurd.
“Help? Boje moe! Da!”
He turned from me, and began rapidly to remove all the books from the bookcase. I thought this a peculiar way to pursue studies, especially as he was so frightfully quick about it; I have never seen any one so marvellously quick with his hands, tumbling the books down one after the other. When the case was entirely empty, and I knew that I should have the work of filling it again, he very calmly removed a shelf and began feeling with his fingers along the back of the case. I stared at him, silent and fascinated. I thought him harmlessly insane. He was evidently very much excited. He tapped with his fingers. Perspiration streamed down his face. He glanced at me over his shoulder.
“You see,” he said. “It is back there. Don't you hear?”
I heard that his tapping produced a hollow sound.
“What are you about?” I asked him sternly.
At that he began tumbling the books back in their places as feverishly as he had taken them out. In an incredibly short time they were arranged.
“Yes, yes, you are quite right,” he said as though my bewildered question had been a piece of advice. “Now you see for yourself.” He got up and dusted his knees. “It is much safer for you, but I did not dare to trust it to writing. You have, however, much better opportunities than I knew. It will be in Russian, of course, but that, too, will give you no trouble. I meant to contrive a meeting with Maida, but this is much better.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed, the jargon made no sense at all.
He took my hand and raised it to his lips.