"Fellows! Time is up to-day!" said the baker one morning, commencing to work.
We knew this well without his calling our attention to it, but we gave a start, nevertheless.
"Watch her! . . . She'll come soon!" suggested the baker. Some one exclaimed regretfully: "What can we see?"
And again a lively, noisy dispute ensued. To-day we were to learn at last how far pure and inaccessible to filth was the urn wherein we had placed all that was best in us. This morning we felt for the first time that we were really playing a big game, that this test of our godling's purity might destroy our idol. We had been told all these days that the soldier was following Tanya obstinately, but for some reason or other none of us asked how she treated him. And she kept on coming to us regularly every morning for biscuits and was the same as before. This day, too, we soon heard her voice:
"Little prisoners! I've come. . . ."
We hastened to let her in, and when she entered we met her, against our habit, in silence. Staring at her fixedly, we did not know what to say to her, what to ask her; and as we stood before her we formed a dark, silent crowd. She was evidently surprised at our unusual reception, and suddenly we noticed that she turned pale, became restless, began to bustle about and asked in a choking voice:
"Why are you . . . such?
"And you?" asked the baker sternly, without taking his eyes off the girl.
"What's the matter with me?"
"Nothing. . . ."