_THE WATCH._
I changed my mind with regard to leaving St. Petersburg in three days,
and decided to stay a week longer. For this change I made no explanation
except to Mary, whom I took into my confidence, telling her of my
intended visit to Ursula and asking her to go with me. At first she
shrank from the idea in alarm, but finally consented, and on the
afternoon of the second day after our adventure, we started again for
what Mary called the thieves’ quarters. To save time we took a _drosky_
nearly to the end of the Nevsky, and walked the rest of the way. It was
a warm afternoon and the street was swarming with children who, at sight
of us, set up a clamor. “She’s come again—the madame who talks as we
do,” and they began to gather around us; but I waved them off so
imperatively that they did not even touch us with their hands as I went
forward to where Ursula was again sitting in her door mending some
garments which I knew intuitively belonged to her scapegrace nephew. She
looked surprised when she saw us, but arose at once and asked us to come
in instead of sitting upon the steps, as we had done before. Her room
was neat and clean and homelike, although poorly furnished and showing
signs of poverty.
“Please keep them out,” I said, motioning to the children, some of whom
followed us in. “My business with you is private.”
An expression I did not quite like came upon her face as she sent the
children away, and then, speaking in English, said: “What is it? Why
have you come again?”
I told her very briefly that everything pointed to Carl as the thief who
had entered Michel Seguin’s house, and why I was interested to get the
watch, if possible. “Do you think Carl has it?” I asked.
Her needle came unthreaded just then, and after biting the end of her
thread several times and making several jabs at the eye of her needle,
she took up the poor old coat, patched in many places, and replied: “I
don’t think—I never know what he has, nor what he does except as I hear
it. I’ll not deny that the police have been here after him, but they
didn’t get him. He’s cute,” and she smiled in a proud kind of way at the
boy’s cuteness in eluding the vigilance of the gendarmes.
“Do you see him often?” I asked, and she replied: “Yes, and no; if he is
hard pressed he stays where they can’t find him. Late at night he comes
in to see me.”
“Can you communicate with him when you wish to?” I asked next, and she
replied: “Yes, we have ways and means—a kind of underground railroad
such as your people used to have when you had a slavery not half as
crushing as ours.”
“You are a nihilist,” I said, and instantly her face flamed up, then
grew pale, as she replied: “Of course I am. Half of us are nihilists at
heart. Not that we want to kill the czar. That’s murder. We want a freer
government, like yours, where we dare call our souls our own and are not
watched at every turn.”
We were getting away from the object of my visit, and I came back to it
by saying: “Will you see Carl and ask him to bring you the watch? I
don’t care for the silver; it is the watch I want. I let him go when I
might have kept him till the gendarme came. I think there is enough good
in him to do me this favor.”
“He may do it for you. He was very grateful. Paul Strigoff is a devil,”
she said; then she added, suddenly: “You and Michel Seguin are great
friends.”
[Illustration: “MARRY HIM! MARRY A RUSSIAN! NEVER!”]
I did not know whether we were or not, but it was safe to answer in the
affirmative and that he had been very kind to us all since we first met
him.
“He is of a good family and ought to be something better than a hunter
of criminals. People wonder he took it up. Would you marry him?” was her
next question.
“Marry him! Marry a Russian! Never!” I exclaimed, so loud that she
started in her chair. Her spectacles fell off and her needle came
unthreaded again.
“They are not so bad if you get the right one,” she said, adjusting her
glasses and making more jabs at the eye of her needle.
I threaded it for her, and as there was nothing to gain by stopping
longer, I took my leave, after bidding her let me know at once if she
had good news for me.
“To-morrow,” was her reply, and I left her patching the old coat which
made me faint to look at, it spoke so plainly of poverty and the scenes
it must have been in, for I believed it was the one Carl had worn when I
met him, and that the rent which Ursula was mending was made by Chance’s
big paws.
Quite a retinue of children attended us for a ways, and among them my
old hat was conspicuous again, worn this time right side before, with a
piece of an old blue veil twisted round it and round the girl’s face.
That night seemed interminable as I waited for the to-morrow and what it
might bring from Ursula. It brought a note addressed in a fair hand, and
containing only the words: “Come this afternoon at two o’clock, and
alone.”
I did not quite like the word alone, but did not hesitate a moment. But
how should I manage it? What excuse should I make to my friends who were
already looking upon me as something of a crank? At last I decided to
make no excuse except that I was going out on business and alone, with
the exception of Chance, who was already waiting outside the hotel, as
he had waited every morning since my adventure with Carl. Mary suspected
where I was going, but said nothing, and at a little before two I was
driving along the Nevsky till I reached a point where I alighted,
telling the driver I would walk the rest of the way. Chance was in high
spirits, sometimes running far ahead of me and then bounding back to my
side. The moment I turned into the street, or square, where Ursula lived
his whole attitude changed. His fur seemed rough and his head was
lowered to the ground as he started on a racing gallop as if in pursuit
of something. He was usually obedient to my call, and I succeeded in
getting him back and kept my hand upon his neck until I reached Ursula’s
house. There were not as many children in sight as usual. They had gone
on a picnic and the street was very quiet. Ursula was watching for me,
but her countenance fell when she saw Chance pulling to get free.
“I thought you would come alone,” she said. “I am afraid of that dog.”
“He is harmless if there is nothing to be harmed,” I replied, taking the
chair she offered me and still holding Chance, who tugged to get away
from me, and finally did so, beginning to run in circles around the room
and to scratch at a door which, I think, opened into a bedchamber and in
which I heard a rustling sound as of some one moving. “Carl is in
there,” I said to Ursula, who replied, after listening a moment, while
Chance continued banging at the door with his huge paws: “He was there.
He is not now, thank God! He has a way of leaving the place unknown to
anyone but ourselves. And he has taken it. He saw the dog coming with
you and was afraid like myself. I sent for him last night and told him
what you wanted. He had the watch and promised to bring it this
afternoon and give it to you himself. He wanted to thank you personally
for letting him go that day and to tell you he was not all bad and was
going to do better. He brought the watch, but dare not face the dog.”
She arose and went into the bedroom, followed by Chance, who acted as if
he would tear up the floor and ceiling, until I quieted him by the first
blow I had ever given him, and which wrung from him a look of intense
surprise as he crouched at my feet with his nose on the floor as if
scenting something.
“Do you recognize it?” Ursula asked, putting the watch in my hands. “It
has a name and date on the lid.”
I knew it was Nicol’s without the name, and the touch of it was like the
touch of a vanished hand not dead in reality to my knowledge, but dead
to me except so far as memory was concerned, and the sight of it brought
Nicol as vividly to mind as when I was the pupil and he the
teacher—young, handsome and strong in all that makes a man strong
mentally and physically, and I could hear his voice calling me _Lucy_,
as he did once or twice when we were alone, and his soft, brown eyes
looked at me as no other eyes since had ever looked. Where was he now,
and what the mystery surrounding him? And——
[Illustration: “I THOUGHT YOU WOULD COME ALONE. I AM AFRAID OF THAT
DOG.”]
There came over me a flash of heat which made my blood boil, as I
thought: “Could Chance find him from this clew?” Then as quickly I
answered: “No. I will get the truth from Michel Seguin when I give him
back his property.”
As I turned to go I offered Ursula money for Carl. But with a proud
gesture she refused it. “He thought you might do it and said he should
not take it. He was not as mean as that,” she said, giving me a box in
which to put the watch which was ticking as loudly and evenly as it had
done years ago in the schoolhouse in Ridgefield. I wanted to give the
woman something to show my gratitude to her, and offered her the stick
pin which held my scarf. But she declined it; then, with a wistful look
at the knot of red, white and blue ribbon which I always wore, she asked
if I had another like it. I had, and at once gave her the knot, which
she took with thanks.
“It is the badge of a free country,” she said, “where I once thought to
go. It is too late now for me, but if Carl could get there it might make
a good man of him. Here he can do nothing but _hide_—_hide_—till he is
caught again, and then Siberia, or a dungeon!”
I was sorry for the woman, whose dim old eyes were full of tears as she
bade me good-by, saying: “You will not betray my boy by telling where he
was when you got the watch?”
“Never!” I answered, and kissed the tired, white face which I might
never see again.
I did not know what Mrs. Grundy would say when she saw a lone woman stop
at Michel Seguin’s house, nor did I care. I was at a point where Mrs.
Grundy’s opinion did not matter, and I bade the driver of the _drosky_
leave me at Monsieur Seguin’s door, after ascertaining that he was at
home. His face was one of intense surprise when he saw me, and mingling
with the surprise was a look of pleasure as he came forward to meet me.
“What is it? What has happened?” he asked, for I was shaking with
excitement.
“Let me go to your room—Nicol’s room, and I will tell you,” I said.
He led the way to his den, and opening the box, I put the watch upon the
table without a word.
“_What!_” he exclaimed, springing forward and taking it up. “My watch!
Where did you find it?”
“I didn’t find it,” I said. “I got it through Carl. No matter how, nor
when. He brought it to me, but the silver I did not get.”
“I don’t care for the silver,” he said, a little impatiently. “It was
the watch I prized, because——”
He stopped abruptly and seemed to be thinking, while I was nerving
myself for what I meant to do.
“You would make a splendid detective,” he said at last. “How can I thank
you?”
Here was my chance. “You can thank me first,” I replied, “by letting
that boy alone for a while, and if he is arrested again, don’t be harsh
or cruel with him. There is good there which the knout will never
improve.”
“Promised!” he said. “I’ll look after the lad myself, for your sake.”
The tone of his voice said what his half-shut eyes could not express,
and I felt the blood tingling in my veins as I went on hurriedly:
“You can also tell me the mystery surrounding Nicol and why he is in
hiding where even you cannot find him. You are a man and I am a woman—no
longer young, and so I do not mind telling you that I liked Nicol Patoff
very much, and I should be so glad to see him, and—and——”
Here I began to choke; but I swallowed hard, put aside all shame, and
went on: “You have a lock of hair which he left when he went away. You
said it was _black_; I know better; it is _red_, bright red—the color
mine was when a young girl. It is darker now. He asked me for it, and I
gave it to him. I want it back. It is mine, not yours. Will you give it
to me?”
His eyes were wider open now than I had ever seen them, and startled me
with an expression I could not define, but which made me wish I was not
there talking to him.
“As Nicol’s property I must keep it with the watch until such time as he
can claim them openly,” he said at last. “I know he thought more of the
hair than of the watch. I cannot give it up.”
His manner was decided, and I felt my temper rising, but forced it down;
for there was one more favor I would ask, and then I would say good-by
to him forever.
“You have refused to give me the hair, but you have promised to be kind
to Carl for my sake. Will you be equally lenient toward Nicol, should he
be arrested and under your authority? Do you think you could do anything
to help him? They say you are all powerful with your friends. Will you
try to have Nicol’s punishment a little lighter? I don’t know what he
has done, but don’t let them give him the knout, nor the dungeon, nor
Siberia, _nor anything_.”
I was choking now and standing up, with my hands clinched so tightly
that my nails hurt my flesh, while he, too, stood with his eyes closed,
his chin quivering, and his teeth pressed tightly over his under lip.
When he spoke his voice was strained and unnatural, as he said: “Pardon
me for what I am going to say. Do you love Nicol Patoff? Would you marry
him if he stood high in St. Petersburg?”
He had asked me a similar question once before, and, as then, I now
answered quickly: “No, I could not marry a Russian. I hate your
government machinery. I should be a nihilist in a month, and my house
would be a rendezvous for them.”
“Yes,” he replied, “but you have not answered my most important
question: ‘Do you love Nicol Patoff?’ I have no right to ask you, but do
you?”
He seemed terribly in earnest, and I recoiled a step from him as I
answered: “No! I esteemed him as a friend, nothing more; and since I
have known he was in danger I have felt a great interest in him; but
love him—marry him—I couldn’t. I have answered you, and now tell me, can
you shield him if he is found?”
“I think I can,” was his reply.
“And will you?”
“I will.”
“And will you tell him that I have not forgotten him?”
“I will,” were the replies and answers which followed rapidly as we
walked side by side to the street, where I gave him my hand and said:
“We shall certainly leave in two or three days, and I may not see you
again. I must thank you for all the kindness you have shown us, helping
us over rough places and in many ways, but most I thank you for Chance,
who has been invaluable at times.”
He was still holding my hand and looking at me as if there was something
he wished to say and was struggling to keep back. Whatever it was he did
not say it, but, dropping my hand quickly, hailed a _drosky_, into which
he put me, and, with a simple “Good-by,” turned back to his house. I
made no explanation to anyone as to where I had been. I was too tired;
my head ached, and I did not wish for any dinner, I said, and went to
bed early, deciding to leave St. Petersburg as soon as possible. With a
woman’s instinct I felt tolerably sure of the nature of M. Seguin’s
feeling for me, but could not analyze my feelings for him. He both
fascinated and repelled me. I liked him and feared him, for something in
his personality always influenced me more than I cared to be influenced,
and I wished to get away from it.
“We will have just one more day of looking around and then let’s go,” I
said, at breakfast, to my friends, who acquiesced readily, for they
longed for new scenes.
St. Petersburg was monotonous and vexatious. They had shown their
passports and sworn to their nationality and ages and occupations until
they were tired of it, and were quite ready to leave.