... are in this enterprise, and therefore it might be crowned with success.  I really do not know what to think.  Only one point is clear:  I cannot believe that our sufferings, the sufferings of the whole country, are unknown beyond our frontiers.  They must be known; the tears shed cannot during so long a time fall on stones,—­even stones get wet.  If they are not known,—­these sufferings,—­if our hands stretched for help are not seen, if we are condemned just for the only fact that we are Russians,—­and if ...

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55

... knocked at the door.  I hardly had time to say “enter,” when something enveloped in a thick brown overcoat rolled in, jumped at me and in a second covered all of my face with hot kisses.  I answered them very attentively.

Then I noticed that the amiable creature was Lucie.

“No, you don’t hate me!  No, you don’t hate me!  I know it!  I knew it!...”

“Lucie,” I said, “before we proceed, please let me put some of these papers in my pockets.”

“Alex!  Don’t remind me of that!  How did you dare to write such stories about me?  You can’t blame me, can you?”

“Perhaps I don’t—­for some pages you destroyed.  How about the chart, and about the?...”

She covered my mouth with her hands.  “If we recollect everything it will be endless.  And besides I don’t think I took anything from you.  Let’s forget!  I’ll forgive you, if you promise me not to write nasty stories about your Lucie.”

I promised, and consented, of course.  How can I do otherwise?  No use!

I put her near me, poured her some tea and offered her the cookies.

For a time we looked at each other.  She certainly looked like a peasant girl!

“How do you like this costume?” she said.  “Next bal masque I certainly will wear this kind, you may be sure.  Of course all of this, and that must be chiffon, and silk, and....”  A woman cannot get on without these chats.  On the other hand—­woman speaks to the man about it with a concealed contempt:  what does a man understand?  She does not get angry when she sees that the man does not listen; he only looks.

“Now,”—­she said, gazing around with a dear grimace,—­“again in your element, in dirt?  What shall I do with you, Alex?  I can’t stand it!”

“Dirt is my protection, dear.  Why did you leave?  Don’t run away any more.”

“We will see about it.  But first—­what are you doing here?  Are you following me?  Don’t you think I saw you here?  Why do you risk your life?  How did you think of leaving Tumen?  How is your cook?”