"A spy," she whispered, her eyes growing wide with fright.
Yevsey was silent. She rose and went to him.
"What a tragic fellow you are!" she said thoughtfully and kindly, stroking his head. "You don't understand anything. You're so droll. What was the stuff you told me the other day? What other life?"
The question animated him; he wanted very much to talk about it. Raising his head and looking into her face with the fathomless stare of blind eyes, he began to speak rapidly.
"Of course there's another life. From where else do the fairy-tales come? And not only the fairy-tales, but—"
The woman smiled, and rumpled his hair with her warm fingers.
"You little stupid! They'll seize you," she added seriously, even sternly, "they'll lead you wherever they want to, and do with you whatever they want to. That will be your life."
Yevsey nodded his head, silently assenting to Rayisa's words.
She sighed and looked through the window upon the street. When she turned to Yevsey, her face surprised him. It was red, and her eyes had become smaller and darker.
"If you were smarter," she said in an indolent, hollow voice, "or more alert, maybe I would tell you something. But you're such a queer chappie there's no use telling you anything, and your master ought to be choked to death. There, now, go tell him what I've said—you tell him everything."