I laughed to myself as I thought of a nihilist meeting in Madame Seguin’s drawing room, but resolved to speak seriously to Zaidee on the subject the next time I saw her. She was carrying matters with too high a hand in her master’s house, and reminded me of the lines about putting a beggar on horseback.
I could understand now, I thought, why Ivan had never answered Katy’s letter. He had left Siberia, perhaps, before it reached there, or he had been too busy taking care of himself to think of writing. He had escaped detection for more than a year, and I began at last to have some faith in Zaidee’s assurance that he would never be caught. I hoped not. I could not think of him hiding here and there, with this cloud on his young life, unless he escaped to America, and I was not quite sure whether I wanted him there or not. I had never known him as a man. It was Sophie—a handsome young girl, with a pleasing personality and gracious address—who always came before me, and it was her voice that was sounding in my ears when I at last fell into a troubled sleep just as daylight was beginning to show in my room.
CHAPTER XVII.
ALEX SPEAKS.
I had my breakfast in my room the next morning, for my head ached and I was still in a bewildered state of mind with what Zaidee had told me. It was Alex who brought my breakfast, stumbling as she came in, for she was not very steady on her feet.
“Corns, a whole bushel,” she said, when I pointed to her feet swathed in big cloth shoes.
I had conceived a prejudice against her, for no reason unless it were that Mrs. Browne lauded her so high and she was so uncouth in her appearance. She had evidently been overworked when young, for her back was bent as backs are not usually bent at her age, which, I guessed, was between fifty and sixty.
She was stiff and slow in her motions, as if moving her arms and feet was difficult. Her hair was gray, and twisted into a knot at the back of her head. Across her forehead it was cut square, and worn low, and was rather bushy in its style, as if it might curl with coaxing. Over her head and tied under her chin was a silk handkerchief, with the side pulled up over her good ear. Her dress was black and short, and was protected by a wide, gingham apron.
Everything about her was faultlessly clean, and, as she put my breakfast tray upon the table, I noticed that her hands, though large, were not as rough and knotty as one might have expected in a common peasant. Her eyes I could not see distinctly, because of the bluish spectacles she wore, fastened with a string over her ears; but it struck me that they were very bright and piercing; they certainly looked very sharp at me as she stood a moment awaiting orders. I thought she wished me to speak to her, and I said, at last:
“Is your head better? Mrs. Browne said it was aching last night.”
“Much better, thank you,” she replied.