'I was put in a very awkward position this evening through your doing,'
I said the same evening to Fustov, on the way home with him. 'You told
me that that girl--what's her name?--Susanna, was the daughter of Mr.
Ratsch, but she's his stepdaughter.'
'Really! Did I tell you she was his daughter? But... isn't it all the
same?'
'That Ratsch,' I went on.... 'O Alexander, how I detest him! Did you
notice the peculiar sneer with which he spoke of Jews before her? Is
she... a Jewess?'
Fustov walked ahead, swinging his arms; it was cold, the snow was crisp,
like salt, under our feet.
'Yes, I recollect, I did hear something of the sort,' he observed at
last.... 'Her mother, I fancy, was of Jewish extraction.'
'Then Mr. Ratsch must have married a widow the first time?'
'Probably.'
'H'm!... And that Viktor, who didn't come in this evening, is his
stepson too?'
'No... he's his real son. But, as you know, I don't enter into other
people's affairs, and I don't like asking questions. I'm not
inquisitive.'
I bit my tongue. Fustov still pushed on ahead. As we got near home, I
overtook him and peeped into his face.
'Oh!' I queried, 'is Susanna really so musical?'
Fustov frowned.
'She plays the piano well, 'he said between his teeth. 'Only she's very
shy, I warn you!' he added with a slight grimace. He seemed to be
regretting having made me acquainted with her.