My handbag was heavy, and I set it down until I should be admitted.
In a few moments the door opened mysteriously, and on my entrance was quickly closed again, leaving me in darkness.
“Welcome, friend, to Petersburg,” said a man’s voice in a low tone. “Walk forward, and upstairs.”
I obeyed, and on gaining the landing entered a small sitting-room. The two occupants—a man and a woman—rose to greet me.
“At last,” exclaimed the young fellow, who subsequently introduced himself as Ivan Liustig, medical student. “You must be hungry. Mascha, here, will get you something to eat.”
I turned to glance at his companion. Our eyes met. Our voices mingled in a cry of joy. I had at last found my sister Mascha!
In the hour that followed we both related briefly our adventures. She had grown older, more matronly, yet still more beautiful than when I had last seen her writhing under the terrible torture of the knout in the open market-place of Mstislavl. As I felt the soothing touch of her hands, and looked into the deep-blue eyes, I saw fathomed there a wealth of love, and patience, and pity.
Sitting at table with Liustig and Boris Soliviof—the proprietor of the confectioner’s shop, who had admitted me—I watched Mascha’s face as she chatted and drew tea from the shining samovar. In repose, its expression was one of infinite gentleness; yet in a moment, at a word regarding the revolutionary movement, it would change: the rosy, child-like lips would meet, the fair cheeks glow, the delicate nostrils dilate, and the eyes would flame with an enthusiasm begotten of wrong and long suffering.
She described to me her life since that day when we last met at Mstislavl; how she had been kept in prison for three years, two of which were spent in the Fortress of Peter and Paul, merely because she was suspected of political enthusiasm. She was never brought to trial; but, after the long years of solitude in damp, mouldy cells, during which her health was shattered, she contracted typhoid fever, and was set at liberty. Since that time she had allied herself with the Zemliá i Vólia, and had been considered one of the most daring members of the group. She earned her living by fur-sewing, and was engaged to be married to Ivan Liustig.