“Promised!” he said. “I’ll look after the lad myself, for your sake.”
The tone of his voice said what his half-shut eyes could not express, and I felt the blood tingling in my veins as I went on hurriedly:
“You can also tell me the mystery surrounding Nicol and why he is in hiding where even you cannot find him. You are a man and I am a woman—no longer young, and so I do not mind telling you that I liked Nicol Patoff very much, and I should be so glad to see him, and—and——”
Here I began to choke; but I swallowed hard, put aside all shame, and went on: “You have a lock of hair which he left when he went away. You said it was black; I know better; it is red, bright red—the color mine was when a young girl. It is darker now. He asked me for it, and I gave it to him. I want it back. It is mine, not yours. Will you give it to me?”
His eyes were wider open now than I had ever seen them, and startled me with an expression I could not define, but which made me wish I was not there talking to him.
“As Nicol’s property I must keep it with the watch until such time as he can claim them openly,” he said at last. “I know he thought more of the hair than of the watch. I cannot give it up.”
His manner was decided, and I felt my temper rising, but forced it down; for there was one more favor I would ask, and then I would say good-by to him forever.
“You have refused to give me the hair, but you have promised to be kind to Carl for my sake. Will you be equally lenient toward Nicol, should he be arrested and under your authority? Do you think you could do anything to help him? They say you are all powerful with your friends. Will you try to have Nicol’s punishment a little lighter? I don’t know what he has done, but don’t let them give him the knout, nor the dungeon, nor Siberia, nor anything.”
I was choking now and standing up, with my hands clinched so tightly that my nails hurt my flesh, while he, too, stood with his eyes closed, his chin quivering, and his teeth pressed tightly over his under lip. When he spoke his voice was strained and unnatural, as he said: “Pardon me for what I am going to say. Do you love Nicol Patoff? Would you marry him if he stood high in St. Petersburg?”
He had asked me a similar question once before, and, as then, I now answered quickly: “No, I could not marry a Russian. I hate your government machinery. I should be a nihilist in a month, and my house would be a rendezvous for them.”