Lensky has seated himself on the edge of the bed near her. One of her little hands lies on the counterpane; he takes it in his, kisses and strokes it.
"How did it happen?" he asks, bent over the child.
"When I came home she was not here," declares Madame Jeliagin, hastily. There is something flattering, dog-like, whining in her tone, as if she feared being blamed. "She had left word with the maid that she would not return to dinner, as she was to dine with you and Nikolai. I sat calmly down to dinner--alone, Anna dines with friends--about half-past ten. I had just sent the servant for Anna; a carriage stopped before the door. I heard a heavy stamping in the vestibule; voices speaking together. The maid said they desired madame. I rush out; then I see two men who carry in the child. They told me--from a steamer--somewhere near Passy--a girl had been seen to fall into the water--Mascha--only at the right time they plunged after her--saved her. Fortunately, there was some one among the passengers who knew her, a servant who sometimes assists here, who brought her here, or else they would have taken her to the police station. It is fearful--an accident, a terrible accident, an imprudence--the gate of the steamer was badly secured she leaned against it--and----"
With deeply bent head Lensky has listened to the simple report. He still rubs and strokes his daughter's little hand. "What, accident!" murmured he. "How did she come on the ship? She wished to kill herself from grief. Poor little dove! What grief can one have at seventeen? Oh, my petulant, gay darling, my tender, defiant little curly head, who has grieved you so?" Then, again turning to his sister-in-law: "Have you, at least, sent for a physician?" he says, imperiously.
"I did not know," murmurs she, confusedly.
Mascha trembles from head to foot, and drawing her hand away from her father, she hides her face in the pillows and groans: "No--no--no doctor!"
Lensky looks at her more attentively; he has understood! It is no human sound; it is the cry of a wild animal which now escapes his breast; then he rushes upon his daughter, seizes her by the throat, strikes her in the face. "Shameless one!" he screams.
"Pas de violence, for God's sake!" stammers Madame Jeliagin, anxiously.
But he does not listen to her.
"Who was it?" he gasps. "Who was it?" he thunders at his sister-in-law.