"It is useless to wait any longer," mutters Radonic to himself; "nobody is coming."
The thought that his wife had fled with Vranic has almost become a certainty. Jealousy is torturing him. He feels like gripping his throat and choking himself, or dashing his head to pieces against the stone wall. If his house had been in town, near the others, Vranic might have waited till after ten o'clock; but, situated where it was, no prying neighbours were to be feared. Something had, perhaps, detained him. Still, what can detain a man when he has such an object in view?
Muttering an oath between his teeth, Radonic stood up.
"Hush! What was that?" He listened.
Nothing, or only one of the many unexplainable noises heard in the stillness of the night.
Perhaps, after all, Vranic had been on the watch the whole day, and then he had seen him return. Perhaps—though he had never believed in his friend's gift of second sight—Vranic was indeed a seer, and could read within the minds of men. Perhaps, having still some doubts, he would only come on the morrow. Anyhow, he would go to bed and abide his time. He stretched his anchylosed limbs and yawned.
Now he was certain he heard a noise outside.
He stood still. It was like the sound of steps at a distance. He listened again. This time he was not mistaken, though, indeed, it was a very low sound. Stealthy steps on the shingle. He went on tiptoe to the door. The sound of the steps was more distinct at every pace. Moreover, every now and then, a stone would turn, or creak, or strike against another, and thus betray the muffled sound of the person who walked.
Radonic listened breathlessly.
Perhaps, after all, it was only Milena coming back home. He peeped out, but he could not see anything. Was his hearing quicker than his sight?