"I have them here, somewhere," he stammered, "Where in the devil! They were here last night!"
He felt again desperately. "They seem to be gone! What can have become of them? I put them here—here!" He searched again.
"Curious!" said the official, "Ha ha!"
The prisoner stared at him for a moment blinking. "You impudent scoundrel!" he cried, "She is my wife, papers or no papers. Ask her!—Kaya!"
The girl held herself straight and aloof. She was gazing down at the litter of papers on the table; her face was white and her lips were clenched in her teeth.
"Kaya—tell him! The papers are lost! God, they are gone somehow! Tell him—"
The girl released her lip and her voice came out suddenly, ringing, clear as if the room had been large and the Cossack deaf; it seemed to burst from her throat.
"I am not his wife," she said, "He is mistaken. He is telling you that out of kindness. Monsieur is a stranger to me, until last night a perfect stranger. I don't know him at all. Don't believe what he says. You see for yourself there are no papers. Is it likely?"
The tones of her voice seemed to die away suddenly and a drop of blood oozed from her lip. She wiped it away and clinched her teeth again, fiercely, as if hedging her words.
"Kaya!" cried the man. "She is my wife, I tell you, she is my wife! The priest married us. I can prove it."