De Windt was silent for an instant, studying the open expression of the clear-eyed, clean-cut young face before him. During the past winter the older man had conceived a friendship for Ivan such as he would hardly have believed himself capable of. Above all things, de Windt was proud of Ivan's scrupulous morality, and the almost incredible chivalry with which he regarded all women. Few men attempted to fathom the extent of his innocence. But it was a fact that conversations of a certain type were instinctively stopped when this young fellow entered a room—though it were the lounging-room of the notorious Yacht club itself. It was for this reason that de Windt paused for a full five minutes, and that Ivan's impatience was becoming visible, before he answered, gravely:
"Ivan Mikhailovitch, you've seen a good deal of our 'manly' existence this winter, in Petersburg. I imagine you've got your own opinion of it. We won't discuss that. But see here, when a man is seen continually neglecting his duty; when he is constantly rushing off, without a word to a soul, and is always seen in the same locality; when he's always half-drunk but refuses companionship, and threatens his servant with the knout if he examines the address on the letters he writes every few hours; when he seems to have lost any sense of duty or decency or position that he has attained to; what is the infallible explanation of that man's behavior?"
Ivan sprang to his feet. "You mean it's a woman?—Brodsky can't have married again, surely?"
De Windt smiled. In his mind he marvelled a little, even while he rejected the idea of either guile or idiocy in Ivan's simple question. "Why the secrecy, then?—and the ill-temper?—All the same it is a woman, though. We've all come to that conclusion.—As a matter of fact, Ivan, Zedarovsky swears he saw her, walking down officers' row, probably on her way to the village, two nights ago. By his watch, she had just time to catch the last train,—the eleven-twenty-five, for Petersburg. She was going rapidly, with her head down. She wore a thick white veil, too. And yet he swears also that—he recognized her."
"Recognized her! Great God, Vladimir, it's not—it can't be—any one we know?"
"Why not?"
"Oh!—Oh because—that brute!—It would be sickening to think of a woman's even dining with him!"
"That is probably precisely what she had been doing.—He's certainly getting rather reckless. But we compared notes; and nobody saw him that day after five-thirty; and Féodor, his orderly, was on guard at the tent door all evening, the officer of the watch says.—By Heavens, he'll have her—"
"But you haven't told me whom they say she is, Vladimir. Tell me!"
De Windt hesitated, and then, lifting his eyes to Ivan's, said, in a grave voice: "Why should you know, old chap?"