'It was he who placed you here—was at all costs for your education. I suppose you are aware of that?' he continued, with some embarrassment.
Vassia Kazán bowed and still said nothing. He might have been made of ice or of marble for any sign that he gave. He might only have heard that an unknown man had died in the street.
'You were placed here by him—at least, by his agents; you were the son of a dead friend, they said. I did not inquire closer—payments were always made in advance.'
He passed his hand a little confusedly over his eyes, for he felt a little shame; his college was of high repute, and the agents of Prince Zabaroff had placed sums in his hands, to induce him to deviate from his rules, larger than he would have cared to confess.
The boy was silent.
'If he would only speak!' thought his master. 'He must know—he must know.'
But the son of the dead Zabaroff did not speak.
'I am sorry to say,' resumed his master, still with hesitation, 'I am very sorry to say that the death of the Prince being thus sudden and thus unforeseen, his agents write me that there are no instructions, no arrangement, no testament, in short—you will understand what I mean; you will understand that, in point of fact, there is nothing for you, there is no one to pay anything any longer.'
He paused abruptly; the fair face of the boy grew a shade paler, that was all. He bore the shock without giving any sign.
'Is he made of ice and steel?' thought the old man, who had been proud of him as his most brilliant pupil.