Pashinsky appeared and looked at me. "Are you getting tired of this
muzzle, too? Isn't he a ...?"
"Yes," I said, "I must watch him closer now. I think we had better
watch him. You stay on the other side, and I'll be here near the
windows.
"All right," he said. "Then we can meet here. I'm going to walk
from the garden to the fence, and you stay right here. What is your
suspicion?"
"Nothing in particular," I answered.... "Just the ordinary one; I
don't like him. That's all."
So we walked the way he proposed. Every time he would be near the
garden, he would cough in such a noisy and sardonic way that the
Heir, who was sitting with Derevenko on the bench would turn his long,
pensive face, and his old sailor guardian would look with hatred on
the rascal.
When Pashinsky was away, the window behind me opened very cautiously
and a lady's voice said to me, "Don't turn. Is it true they are to
take Father away? Now, I know you are a gentleman. What would you
advise us to do? I think we are all lost."
Pashinsky started to come back; then a Lett passed, so the voice
stopped. Pashinsky came near me and said, "The Heir never cries when I
tease him. Believe me, he is a hard kid. What do you think if I scare
him more?"
"Yes," I said, "a stubborn child." "I must try again," and he walked
away.
The window again gave way. "Please," the same voice said, "can't
you give any advice to us? We are so frightened! Father is praying;
Mother's very ill; we are all alone."
"I'll write you," I said, (without moving my lips), "what I think and
bring it back."
"Thank you."
I went to Pashinsky, whose teasing was becoming hideous and rough.
He said to the Heir that they had decided to shoot the whole family.
Tears were on the child's face but he kept on bravely; he could not go
away--Pashinsky was at the gate.
I wished: "Just a day or two,--and I will be able to do something. Oh,
God! Send something to stop it right now."