_IVAN._
So much had happened that Nicol Patoff was scarcely more than a pleasant
memory, and now, as I thought of him, it was not exactly as I had done
years before. He had gone out of my life, and another had taken his
place, and my cheeks burned with both regret and shame, that I could not
feel happier to hear news of him. But any delight I might have felt was
swallowed up by what happened as M. Seguin left the room.
Alex had finished her hearth, and, with a politeness I had often noticed
in her, opened the door for him, and bowed him out, bending very low,
and straightening so quickly that her crooked back began to move down
toward her waist, leaving a flat surface where the ridge had been.
She knew it as soon as I did, and put up her hands to readjust herself,
but she was too late, and she stood staring at me, while I sat for a
moment unable to speak or move.
Everything connected with Alex flashed like a revelation into my mind,
and, when I could articulate, I whispered: “Ivan!”
“Yes,” he said, removing his spectacles, and showing me Sophie’s eyes,
which I remembered so well. “Ivan, in another guise, which has worked
well, and I must continue to assume the character of Alex till I get
away to America, as I mean to.”
“How?” I asked; and he replied: “Through you. I was almost in despair
when you came, and so tired of these petticoats and the wadding on my
back, to make me look bent and old, and the gray wig, and Mrs. Browne’s
praise of me as a faithful servant. I have been faithful to her, and
shall be till I get away. I am going with you, as your serving woman, I
mean. You will get me across the frontier; after that it will be easy.”
I listened, with my heart thumping so loud that I could hear it, and
with my whole strength recoiling from the task assigned.
“How did you escape from Siberia?” I asked, feeling I must say
something.
“Oh, easy,” he answered. “Sometimes I was one thing, sometimes another,
but mostly a woman. I succeed best in that guise, and, as old Alex, I am
safe. I must go now to my room and fix my back. I will see you again,
and arrange. I heard you say you were to leave in a week.”
This was true, and I wished it were the next day, so anxious was I to
escape from the mysteries and masquerades and plots of which I seemed a
part, and of which I should be a part, if I tried to smuggle Ivan across
the frontier as my maid. I couldn’t do it, I said, when next Ivan came
to my room. But he was so hopeful and anxious for freedom—and here was
his chance—that I began to consider the matter, aided and abetted by
Zaidee, who, as she knew everything, knew of Ivan’s plan, and was eager
to have it carried out.
“I’d go, too,” she said, “as your friend’s maid, if I wasn’t going to
Siberia to see Carl, and see if it will do. I don’t much believe it
will, and, in that case, I shall find my way to America. A lot of us
want to go, Ivan has said so much of it in his speeches.”
I listened in dismay to this prospect of a colony of nihilists swooping
down upon quiet Ridgefield some day, and began to wish I had never seen
Russia.
“How did M. Seguin know of your meetings?” I asked; and she replied:
“You see, Ivan took off his shoes, and the rags twisted round them for
corns. He has no more corns than I have. His feet are beautiful. He had
to get in a chair to be heard, there was such a jam, and his socks must
have been damp, for there are the prints of two feet plain as day on the
cushion. I tried to get them off, but couldn’t, and monsieur went for me
so fierce I had to tell him. Wasn’t he mad, though? His eyes actually
opened wide. He tried to make me tell where Ivan was, but I wouldn’t. I
told him it was Alex who stood in the chair, scolding us for having a
meeting there. ‘Good for her!’ he said, and, when I told him you were at
Mrs. Browne’s, he quieted down like a lamb. He is going to Paris soon,
to see about his eyes. I believe he will go on the same train with you,
and I shall be off for Siberia. I must go now. I hear the dragon coming.
She hates me.”
My brain was in such a whirl that I cannot narrate correctly all that
occurred that week, my last in St. Petersburg.
What with sight-seeing and Alex and Zaidee and Mrs. Browne, I had a hard
time. At first madame was furious at the thought of losing Alex. What
did I want of that old woman, and what would my friends say when they
saw her? She didn’t think much of people who would coax one’s servants
away; no, she didn’t; and her face wore a most vinegary expression,
until Alex broke two dishes and spilled a pail of milk over the floor,
and took twice the usual time to do my room and Mrs. Whitney’s.
After that the popularity of Alex waned a little. She was old and
careless and slow, and grew worse all the time, and I was welcome to
her, Mrs. Browne said, and that made matters easier.
Quite to my surprise, Monsieur Seguin approved of the plan, and seemed
quite elated over the prospect. He came but once to see me, and was then
in a hurry. He was going to Paris, he said, to see a famous oculist with
regard to his eyes, and he was planning to leave on the same train with
myself. I was afraid my delight showed in my eyes, and, to cover it, I
said: “What of Nicol? Can I see him before I go?”
“Perhaps,” he answered. “Leave it to me. I will tell you everything in
time.”
I did not see him again till I met him at the station. Zaidee came to
say good-by, bringing Chance with her. I felt it was my final farewell
to him, for I should never visit St. Petersburg again, and I was weak
enough to cry as I put my arms around him and held him close for a
moment. Mrs. Browne had allowed him to come into my room, and I made the
most of my time, and petted and caressed him and talked to him until it
was time for him to go. Then I said good-by to him and Zaidee, the girl
promising to write from Siberia, and tell me if it would or would not
“do.”
“I have your hat yet,” were her last words, as she left the house,
pulling Chance with her.
He didn’t want to go, and only my peremptory command started him at
last. When he was gone, and I heard the thud of his feet on the walk, I
sat down and cried again, partly for Chance, partly for Nicol, whom I
had no hope now of seeing, and partly because I was nervous and sick at
heart with excitement and fear lest Ivan would get me into trouble. He
had no fear, and sometimes whistled softly to himself as he made his few
preparations, tying up his belongings in two handkerchiefs. He was out
nearly all night before we started, but he seemed fresh as ever in the
morning, and I think he wanted to tell Mrs. Browne who he was when, in
response to his good-by, she replied she had no good-bys for ingrates!
I got him away safely to the station, where, to my delight, M. Seguin
was waiting for us.