“And you have followed me here,” she said, in a tone full of reproach and disgust; “here, into the room where my mother lies dead, in order to continue your hateful attentions—to insult me before her corpse!”
“Ho! ho!” he exclaimed, annoyed. “Then you have not reconsidered your decision?”
“No,” she replied firmly. “Have I not already told you that I prefer death?”
He argued with her, flattered her, laughing all the time at her indignation, and treating it with flippancy. Suddenly she turned upon him with angry passion, saying: “I desire none of your detestable caresses. It is such heartless officials as you who curse our country, who carry out the ukases of the Autocrat with fiendish delight, and who are the catspaws of the Persecutor of our race. What mercy ought I to expect from you, General Martianoff, who sent Anna Ivanovna to the mines merely because she displeased you, and who condemned Paul Souvaroff to solitary confinement in Petropaulovsk for no offence except that he endeavoured to save a defenceless woman from your merciless clutches. It is——”
“Silence! Wench!” he thundered.
“I will not be hushed when you insult me! You talk of love—you—whose dissolute habits are as well-known as the yellow ticket of shame you would thrust upon us Jewesses. I begged bread from you, and you refused. See! there is the result!” and she pointed to where the body lay.
His face had grown livid, and rushing towards her, he grasped her roughly by the shoulder. “I have not come here on a fool’s errand,” he said fiercely; “I don’t intend that you shall evade me—you understand?”
“Let me go!” she demanded, struggling to get free. “Help! help!” she cried.
“Silence! Curse you!” he growled, striking her a heavy blow upon the mouth. Although stunned for a few moments she continued to struggle desperately.