“I do not see that at all!” declared Laurence.
“You do not! That is obvious; but the hour has come when you should, however.”
“Do you imagine,” Laurence exclaimed, shifting the issue, “that it is agreeable, whenever one shows oneself outside one’s own castle grounds, to hear the contemptuous ‘Tfou!’—whatever that means—spat at you, even by the children?”
“I cannot tell you how it feels, never having been subjected to any insult, great or small.”
“Of course you are of this country. They—the mujiks I mean—belonged to you when they were serfs—so they like and respect you.”
“Which speaks very well for us ex-serf owners, if you will allow me to say so?”
“Possibly. I don’t try to deny it. But I have never been a slave-driver, and lack all knowledge of the ropes.”
Tatiana gave vent to a curt laugh. “Slave-driving would not, I think, be quite out of your line, my dear; but let that pass. There’s no need for us to quarrel. In any case, I do not quite understand what you are trying to get at!”
“Plainly spoken, I’m trying to get at this: I want to go away from here, once and for all, and I hope you will not interfere with my doing so.”
“I shall most certainly do nothing to help you in that respect!” Tatiana replied, bending forward to rub her hands at the fire, for, what between driving and cuffing, her fingers were still rather stiff and sore.