Nearly a week passed, and was spent by Mrs. Whitney and myself in sight-seeing. Alex had another night out, but did not stay late, and it seemed to me she was a little absent-minded the next morning when she came to do her work.
“Have you seen Ivan?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she replied. “Don’t worry about him. He is safe; but the police think they are on the track of a gang of nihilists, and are busy searching for them like needles in a haymow. They can save themselves the trouble. There are more nihilists in the city than they dream of. They are everywhere, in every rank, and ready to shield each other.”
That night Zaidee came for a short time. She could talk of nothing but the renovation of the house for the master, who had returned the night before.
“You ought to see the drawing room,” she said; “swept and cleaned, with fresh curtains and flowers; no signs of the meeting, when old Alex talked to us standing in a chair, with her shoes off. Did she tell you? I nearly split my sides laughing, and so did some of the others. Chance was with us, barking his approval when we cheered, and sitting on the silk couch the rest of the time. Monsieur does not suspect it yet, and praises me for a good housekeeper. I feel pretty mean and ashamed. But”—and her voice dropped—“they are hot after Ivan, and have put monsieur on the scent. I have an idea they will search this house. I came to tell you, and Alex, if I can see her. That dragon, Mrs. Browne, watches me pretty closely.”
At that moment Mrs. Browne appeared, a dark frown on her face when she saw Zaidee.
“Oh, you here yet?” she said, and, taking a seat, began to talk with me as unconcernedly as if Zaidee were not in the room.
After this Zaidee left, first asking Mrs. Browne very meekly if Alex were home, and if she could see her. Nothing could have been more forbidding than the sound of Mrs. Browne’s voice as she replied that she presumed Alex had gone to bed; she “kept good hours, as all domestics should.”
Zaidee bowed, and said good-night, with a courtesy to Mrs. Browne. Whether she saw Alex or not, I did not know. I think she did, and it was later than usual when the old woman came to do my work the next morning, armed this time with water for the hearth, as well as her dusters.
Mrs. Whitney was sitting with me, and this, I think, repressed Alex, although the moment she entered the room I felt a thrill of expectancy, as if something out of the common order was going to happen.