“No, English.”
She stared at him with a kind of wonderment.
“Once I was a governess in England.”
She mentioned the name of an English family, unknown to Bertram.
“You have been here during the Revolution?” he asked.
“Since the beginning of the war. My husband was shot when Kerensky went. He was an officer, and his men killed him, like so many others.”
“You are alone now?”
“I have a little son. He is dying of hunger. I cannot earn enough to feed him. Sometimes I have thought of killing him, but have not the courage.”
“That is terrible!” said Bertram. “How can I help you?”
“Why should you help me?” she asked, in a harsh voice. “What am I to you? I am only one of millions who starve in Russia.”