The Secret City

by Sir Hugh Walpole

  XII

  So much for the way that one Russian saw it. There were others. Forinstance Vera....

  I suppose that the motive of Vera's life was her pride. Quite early, Ishould imagine, she had adopted that as the sort of talisman that wouldsave her from every kind of ill. She told me once that when she was alittle girl, the story of the witch who lured two children into the woodand then roasted them in her oven had terrified her beyond all control,and she would lie awake and shiver for hours because of it. It became asymbol of life to her--the Forest was there and the Oven and theWitch--and so clever and subtle was the Witch that the only way tooutwit her was by pride. Then there was also her maternal tenderness; itwas through that that Markovitch won her. She had not of course lovedhim--she had never pretended to herself that she had--but she had seenthat he wanted caring for, and then, having taken the decisive step, herpride had come to her aid, had shown her a glimpse of the Witch waitingin the Forest darkness, and had proved to her that here was her greatopportunity. She had then, with the easy superiority of a young girl,ignorant of life, dismissed love as of something that others might carefor but that would, in no case, concern herself. Did Love for a momentsmile at her or beckon to her Pride came to her and showed her Nina andNicholas, and that was enough.

  But Love knows its power. He suddenly put forth his strength and Verawas utterly helpless--far more helpless than a Western girl with herconventional code and traditional training would have been. Vera had noconvention and no tradition. She had only her pride and her maternalinstinct and these, for a time, fought a battle for her... then theysuddenly deserted her.

  I imagine that they really deserted her on the night of Nina'sbirthday-party, but she would not admit defeat so readily, and fought onfor a little. On this eventful week when the world, as we knew it, wastumbling about our ears, she had told herself that the only thing towhich she must give a thought was her fixed loyalty to Nina andNicholas. She would not think of Lawrence....She would not think of him.And so resolving, thought of him all the more.

  By Wednesday morning her nerves were exhausted. The excitements of thisweek came as a climax to many months of strain. With the exception ofher visit to the Astoria she had been out scarcely at all and, althoughthe view from her flat was peaceful enough she could imagine every kindof horror beyond the boundaries of the Prospect--and in every horrorLawrence figured.

  There occurred that morning a strange little conversation between Vera,Semyonov, Nicholas Markovitch, and myself. I arrived about ten o'clockto see how they were and to hear the news. I found Vera sitting quietlyat the table sewing. Markovitch stood near to her, his anxious eyes andtrembling mouth perched on the top of his sharp peaky collar and hishands rubbing nervously one within another. He was obviously in a stateof very great excitement. Semyonov sat opposite Vera, leaning his thickbody on his arms, his eyes watching his niece and every once and againhis firm pale hand stroking his beard.

  When I joined them he said to me:

  "Well, Ivan Andreievitch, what's the latest news of your splendidRevolution?"

  "Why my Revolution?" I asked. I felt an especial dislike this morning ofhis sneering eyes and his thick pale honey-coloured beard. "Whose everit was he should be proud of it. To see thousands of people who've beenhungry for months wandering about as I've seen them this morning andnone of them touching a thing--it's stupendous!"

  Semyonov smiled but said nothing. His smile irritated me. "Oh, of courseyou sneer at the whole thing, Alexei Petrovitch!" I said. "Anything finein human nature excites your contempt as I know of old."

  I think that that was the first time that Vera had heard me speak to himin that way, and she looked up at me with sudden surprise and I thinkgratitude.

  Semyonov treated me with complete contempt. He answered me slowly: "No,Ivan Andreievitch, I don't wish to deprive you of any kind of happiness.I wouldn't for worlds. But do you know our people, that's the question?You haven't been here very long; you came loaded up with romanticnotions, some of which you've discarded but only that you may pick upothers....I don't want to insult you at all, but you simply don't knowthat the Christian virtues that you are admiring just now soextravagantly are simply cowardice and apathy....Wait a little! Wait alittle! and then tell me whether I've not been right."

  There was a moment's pause like the hush before the storm, and thenMarkovitch broke in upon us. I can see and hear him now, standing therebehind Vera with his ridiculous collar and his anxious eyes. The wordssimply pouring from him in a torrent, his voice now rising into a shrillscream, now sinking into a funny broken bass like the growl of a youngbaby tiger. And yet he was never ridiculous. I've known other mortals,and myself one of the foremost, who, under the impulse of some suddenanger, enthusiasm, or regret, have been simply figures of fun....Markovitch was never that. He was like a dying man fighting forpossession of the last plank. I can't at this distance of time rememberall that he said. He talked a great deal about Russia; while he spoke Inoticed that he avoided Semyonov's eyes, which never for a singleinstant left his face.

  "Oh, don't you see, don't you see?" he cried. "Russia's chance has comeback to her? We can fight now a holy, patriotic war. We can fight, notbecause we are told to by our masters, but because we, of our own freewill, wish to defend the soil of our sacred country. _Our_ country! Noone has thought of Russia for the last two years--we have thought onlyof ourselves, our privations, our losses--but now--now. O God! the worldmay be set free again because Russia is at last free!"

  "Yes," said Semyonov quietly (his eyes covered Markovitch's face as asearchlight finds out the running figure of a man). "And who has spokenof Russia during the last few days? Russia! Why, I haven't heard theword mentioned once. I may have been unlucky, I don't know. I've beenout and about the streets a good deal... I've listened to a great manyconversations.... Democracy, yes, and Brotherhood and Equality andFraternity and Bread and Land and Peace and Idleness--but Russia! Not asound...."

  "It will come! It will come!" Markovitch urged. "It _must_ come! Youdidn't walk, Alexei, as I did last night, through the streets, and seethe people and hear their voices and see their faces.... Oh! I believethat at last that good has come to the world, and happiness and peace;and it is Russia who will lead the way.... Thank God! Thank God!" Evenas he spoke some instinct in me urged me to try and prevent him. I feltthat Semyonov would not forget a word of this, and would make his ownuse of it in the time to come. I could see the purpose in Semyonov'seyes. I almost called out to Nicholas, "Look out! Look out!" just asthough a man were standing behind him with a raised weapon....

  "You really mean this?" asked Semyonov.

  "Of course I mean it!" cried Markovitch. "Do I not sound as though Idid?"

  "I will remind you of it one day," said Semyonov.

  I saw that Markovitch was trembling with excitement from head to foot.He sat down at the table near Vera and put one hand on the tablecloth tosteady himself. Vera suddenly covered his hand with hers as though shewere protecting him. His excitement seemed to stream away from him, asthough Semyonov were drawing it out of him.

  He suddenly said:

  "You'd like to take my happiness away from me if you could, Alexei. Youdon't want me to be happy."

  "What nonsense!" Semyonov said, laughing. "Only I like the truth--Isimply don't see the thing as you do. I have my view of us Russians. Ihave watched since the beginning of the war. I think our people lazy andselfish--think you must drive them with a whip to make them do anything.I think they would be ideal under German rule, which is what they'll getif their Revolution lasts long enough... that's all."

  I saw that Markovitch wanted to reply, but he was trembling so that hecould not.

  He said at last: "You leave me alone, Alexei; let me go my own way."

  "I have never tried to prevent you," said Semyonov.

  There was a moment's silence.

  Then, in quite another tone, he remarked to me: "By the way, IvanAndreievitch, what about your friend Mr. Lawrence? He's in a po
sition ofvery considerable danger where he is with Wilderling. They tell meWilderling may be murdered at any moment."

  Some force stronger than my will drove me to look at Vera. I saw thatNicolai Leontievitch also was looking at her. She raised her eyes for aninstant, her lips moved as though she were going to speak, then shelooked down again at her sewing.

  Semyonov watched us all. "Oh, he'll be all right," I answered. "If anyone in the world can look after himself it's Lawrence."

  "That's all very well," said Semyonov, still looking at Markovitch. "Butto be in Wilderling's company this week is a very unhealthy thing forany one. And that type of Englishman is not noted for cowardice."

  "I tell you that Lawrence can look after himself," I insisted angrily.

  Semyonov knew and Markovitch knew that I was speaking to Vera. No onethen said a word. There was a long pause. At last Semyonov saw fit togo.

  "I'm off to the Duma," he said. "There's a split, I believe. And I wantto hear whether it's true that the Czar's abdicated."

  "I believe you'd rather he hadn't, Alexei Petrovitch," Markovitch brokein fiercely.

  He laughed at us all and said, "Whose interests am I studying? Myown?... Holy Russia's?... Yours?... When will you learn, Nicholas myfriend, that I am a spectator, not a participator?"

  Vera was alone during most of that day; and even now, after the timethat has passed, I cannot bear to think of what she suffered. Sherealised quite definitely and now, with no chance whatever ofself-deception, that she loved Lawrence with a force that no denial orsacrifice on her part could alter. She told me afterwards that shewalked up and down that room for hours, telling herself again and againthat she must not go and see whether he were safe. She did not dare evento leave the room. She felt that if she entered her bedroom the sightof her hat and coat there would break down her resolution, that if shewent to the head of the stairs and listened she must then go farther andthen farther again. She knew quite well that to go to him now would meancomplete surrender. She had no illusions about that. The whole of herbody was quivering with desire for his embrace, for the warm strength ofhis body, for the kindness in his eyes, and the compelling mastery ofhis hands.

  She had never loved a man before; but it seemed to her now that she hadknown all these sensations always, and that she was now, at last, herreal self, and that the earlier Vera had been a ghost. And what ghostswere Nina and Markovitch!

  She told me afterwards that, on looking back, this seemed to her themost horrible part of the horrible afternoon. These two, who had beenfor so many years the very centre of her life, whom she had forced tohold up, as it were, the whole foundation of her existence, now simplywere not real at all. She might call to them, and their voices were likefar echoes or the wind. She gazed at them, and the colours of the roomand the street seemed to shine through them.... She fought for theirreality. She forced herself to recall all the many things that they haddone together, Nina's little ways, the quarrels with Nicholas, thereconciliations, the times when he had been ill, the times when they hadgone to the country, to the theatre... and through it all she heardSemyonov's voice, "By the way, what about your friend Lawrence?... He'sin a position of very considerable danger... considerable danger...considerable danger..."

  By the evening she was almost frantic. Nina had been with a girl friendin the Vassily Ostrov all day. She would perhaps stay there all nightif there were any signs of trouble. No one returned. Only the clockticked on. Old Sacha asked whether she might go out for an hour. Veranodded her head. She was then quite alone in the flat.

  Suddenly, about seven o'clock, Nina came in. She was tired, nervous, andunhappy. The Revolution had not come to _her_ as anything but a suddencrumbling of all the life that she had known and believed in. She hadhad, that afternoon, to run down a side street to avoid a machine-gun,and afterwards on the Morskaia she had come upon a dead man huddled upin the snow like a piece of offal. These things terrified her and shedid not care about the larger issues. Her life had been always intenselypersonal--not selfish so much as vividly egoistic through her vitality.And now she was miserable, not because she was afraid for her ownsafety, but because she was face to face, for the first time, with theunknown and the uncertain.

  She came in, sat down at the table, put her head into her arms and burstinto tears. She must have looked a very pathetic figure with her littlefur hat askew, her hair tumbled--like a child whose doll is suddenlybroken.

  Vera was at her side in a moment. She put her arms around her.

  "Nina, dear, what is it?... Has somebody hurt you? Has somethinghappened? Is anybody--killed?"

  "No!" Nina sobbed. "Nobody--nothing--only--I'm frightened. It all looksso strange. The streets are so funny, and--there was--a dead man on theMorskaia."

  "You shouldn't have gone out, dear. I oughtn't to have let you. But nowwe can just be cosy together. Sacha's gone out. There's no one here butourselves. We'll have supper and make ourselves comfortable."

  Nina looked up, staring about her. "Has Sacha gone out? Oh, I wish shehadn't!... Supposing somebody came."

  "No one will come. Who could? No one wants to hurt _us!_ I've been hereall the afternoon, and no one's come near the flat. If anybody did comewe've only got to telephone to Nicholas. He's with Rozanov all theafternoon."

  "Nicholas!" Nina repeated scornfully. "As though he could help anybody."She looked up. Vera told me afterwards that it was at that moment, whenNina looked such a baby with her tumbled hair and her flushed cheeksstained with tears, that she realised her love for her with a fiercenessthat for a moment seemed to drown even her love for Lawrence. She caughther to her and hugged her, kissing her again and again.

  But Nina was suspicious. There were many things that had to be settledbetween Vera and herself. She did not respond, and Vera let her go. Shewent into her room, to take off her things.

  Afterwards they lit the samovar and boiled some eggs and put the caviareand sausage and salt fish and jam on the table. At first they weresilent, and then Nina began to recover a little.

  "You know, Vera, I've had an extraordinary day. There were no tramsrunning, of course, and I had to walk all the distance. When I got thereI found Katerina Ivanovna in a terrible way because their Masha--whomthey've had for years, you know--went to a Revolutionary meeting lastevening, and was out all night, and she came in this morning and saidshe wasn't going to work for them any more, that every one was equalnow, and that they must do things for themselves. Just fancy! When she'sbeen with them for years and they've been so good to her. It upsetKaterina Ivanovna terribly, because of course they couldn't get any oneelse, and there was no food in the house."

  "Perhaps Sacha won't come back again."

  "Oh, she must! _She's_ not like that... and we've been so good to her._Nu... Patom_, some soldiers came early in the afternoon and they saidthat some policeman had been firing from Katya's windows and they mustsearch the flat. They were very polite--quite a young student was incharge of them, he was rather like Boris--and they went all overeverything. They were very polite, but it wasn't nice seeing them standthere with their rifles in the middle of the dining-room. Katya offeredthem some wine. But they wouldn't touch it. They said they had been toldnot to, and they looked quite angry with her for offering it. Theycouldn't find the policeman anywhere of course, but they told Katya theymight have to burn the house down if they didn't find him. I think theyjust said it to amuse themselves. But Katya believed it, and was in aterrible way and began collecting all her china in the middle of thefloor, and then Ivan came in and told her not to be silly."

  "Weren't you frightened to come home?" asked Vera.

  "Ivan wanted to come with me but I wouldn't let him. I felt quite bravein the flat, as though I'd face anybody. And then every step I tookoutside I got more and more frightened. It was so strange, so quiet withthe trams not running and the shops all shut. The streets are quitedeserted except that in the distance you see crowds, and sometimes therewere shots and people running.... Then suddenly I began to run. I
feltas though there were animals in the canals and things crawling about onthe ships. And then, just as I thought I was getting home, I saw a man,dead on the snow.... I'm not going out alone again until it's over. I'mso glad I'm back, Vera darling. We'll have a lovely evening."

  They both discovered then how hungry they were, and they had an enormousmeal. It was very cosy with the curtains drawn and the wood crackling inthe stove and the samovar chuckling. There was a plateful of chocolates,and Nina ate them all. She was quite happy now, and sang and dancedabout as they cleared away most of the supper, leaving the samovar andthe bread and the jam and the sausage for Nicholas and Bohun when theycame in.

  At last Vera sat down in the old red arm-chair that had the holes andthe places where it suddenly went flat, and Nina piled up some cushionsand sat at her feet. For a time they were happy, saying very little,Vera softly stroking Nina's hair. Then, as Vera afterwards described itto me, "Some fright or sudden dread of loneliness came into the room. Itwas exactly as though the door had opened and some one had joined us...and, do you know, I looked up and expected to see Uncle Alexei."

  However, of course, there was no one there; but Nina moved away alittle, and then Vera, wanting to comfort her, tried to draw her closer,and then of course, Nina (because she was like that) with a littlepeevish shrug of the shoulders drew even farther away. There was, afterthat, silence between them, an awkward ugly silence, piling up and upwith discomfort until the whole room seemed to be eloquent with it.

  Both their minds were, of course, occupied in the same direction, andsuddenly Nina, who moved always on impulse and had no restraint, burstout:

  "I must know how Andrey Stepanovitch (their name for Lawrence, becauseJeremy had no Russian equivalent) is--I'm going to telephone."

  "You can't," Vera said quietly. "It isn't working--I tried an hour agoto get on to Nicholas."

  "Well then, I shall go off and find out," said Nina, knowing very wellthat she would not.

  "Oh, Nina, of course you mustn't.... You know you can't. Perhaps whenNicholas comes in he will have some news for us."

  "Why shouldn't I?"

  "You know why not. What would he think? Besides, you're not going outinto the town again to-night."

  "Oh, aren't I? And who's going to stop me?"

  "I am," said Vera.

  Nina sprang to her feet. In her later account to me of this quarrel shesaid, "You know, Durdles, I don't believe I ever loved Vera more than Idid just then. In spite of her gravity she looked so helpless and asthough she wanted loving so terribly. I could just have flung my armsround her and hugged her to death at the very moment that I wasscreaming at her. Why are we like that?"

  At any rate Nina stood up there and stamped her foot, her hair hangingall about her face and her body quivering. "Oh, you're going to keep me,are you? What right have you got over me? Can't I go and leave the flatat any moment if I wish, or am I to consider myself your prisoner?..._Tzuineeto, pajalueesta_... I didn't know. I can only eat my meals withyour permission, I suppose. I have to ask your leave before going to seemy friends.... Thank you, I know now. But I'm not going to stand it. Ishall do just as I please. I'm grown up. No one can stop me...."

  Vera, her eyes full of distress looked helplessly about her. She nevercould deal with Nina when she was in these storms of rage, and to-dayshe felt especially helpless.

  "Nina, dear... don't.... You know that it isn't so. You can go whereyou please, do what you please."

  "Thank you," said Nina, tossing her head. "I'm glad to hear it."

  "I know I'm tiresome very often. I'm slow and stupid. If I try yousometimes you must forgive me and be patient.... Sit down again andlet's be happy. You know how I love you. Nina, darling... come again."

  But Nina stood there pouting. She was loving Vera so intensely that itwas all that she could do to hold herself back, but her very love madeher want to hurt.... "It's all very well to say you love me, but youdon't act as though you do. You're always trying to keep me in. I wantto be free. And Andrey Stepanovitch...."

  They both paused at Lawrence's name. They knew that that was at the rootof the matter between them, that it had been so for a long time, andthat any other pretence would be false.

  "You know I love him--" said Nina, "and I'm going to marry him."

  I can see then Vera taking a tremendous pull upon herself as though shesuddenly saw in front of her a gulf into whose depths, in anothermoment, she would fall. But my vision of the story, from this point, isNina's.

  Vera told me no more until she came to the final adventure of theevening. This part of the scene then is witnessed with Nina's eyes, andI can only fill in details which, from my knowledge of them both, Ibelieve to have occurred. Nina, knew, of course, what the effect of herannouncement would be upon Vera, but she had not expected the suddenthin pallor which stole like a film over her sister's face, thewithdrawal, the silence. She was frightened, so she went on recklessly."Oh, I know that he doesn't care for me yet.... I can see that ofcourse. But he will. He must. He's seen nothing of me yet. But I amstronger than he, I can make him do as I wish. I _will_ make him. Youdon't want me to marry him and I know why."

  She flung that out as a challenge, tossing her head scornfully, butnevertheless watching with frightened eyes her sister's face. SuddenlyVera spoke, and it was in a voice so stern that it was to Nina a newvoice, as though she had suddenly to deal with some new figure whom shehad never seen before.

  "I can't discuss that with you, Nina. You can't marry because, as yousay, he doesn't care for you--in that way. Also if he did it would be avery unhappy marriage. You would soon despise him. He is not clever inthe way that you want a man to be clever. You'd think him slow and dullafter a month with him.... And then he ought to beat you and hewouldn't. He'd be kind to you and then you'd be ruined. I can see nowthat I've always been too kind to you--indeed, every one has--and theresult is, that you're spoilt and know nothing about life at all--ormen. You are right. I've treated you as a child too long. I will do sono longer."

  Nina turned like a little fury, standing back from Vera as though shewere going to spring upon her. "That's it, is it?" she cried. "And allbecause you want to keep him for yourself. I understand. I have eyes.You love him. You are hoping for an intrigue with him.... You love him!You love him! You love him!... and he doesn't love you and you are somiserable...."

  Vera looked at Nina, then suddenly turned and burying her head in herhands sobbed, crouching in her chair. Then slipping from the chair,knelt catching Nina's knees, her head against her dress.

  Nina was aghast, terrified--then in a moment overwhelmed by a surgingflood of love so that she caught Vera to her, caressing her hair,calling her by her little name, kissing her again and again and again.

  "Verotchka--Verotchka--I didn't mean anything. I didn't indeed. I loveyou. I love you. You know that I do. I was only angry and wicked. Oh,I'll never forgive myself. Verotchka--get up--don't kneel to me likethat...!"

  She was interrupted by a knock on the outer hall door. To both of themthat sound must have been terribly alarming. Vera said afterwards, that"at once we realised that it was the knock of some one more frightenedthan we were."

  In the first place, no one ever knocked, they always rang the ratherrickety electric bell--and then the sound was furtive and hurried, andeven frantic; "as though," said Vera, "some one on the other side of thedoor was breathless."

  The sisters stood, close together, for quite a long time without moving.The knocking ceased and the room was doubly silent. Then suddenly itbegan again, very rapid and eager, but muffled, almost as though someone were knocking with a gloved hand.

  Vera went then. She paused for a moment in the little hall, for againthere was silence and she fancied that perhaps the intruder had given upthe matter in despair. But, no--there it was again--and this third timeseemed to her, perhaps because she was so close to it, the most urgentand eager of all. She went to the door and opened it. There was no lightin the passage save the dim reflection from the lam
p on the lower floor,and in the shadow she saw a figure cowering back into the corner behindthe door.

  "Who is it?" she asked. The figure pushed past her, slipping into theirown little hall.

  "But you can't come in like that," she said, turning round on him.

  "Shut the door!" he whispered. "_Bozhe moi! Bozhe moi_.... Shut thedoor."

  She recognised him then. He was the policeman from the corner of theirstreet, a man whom they knew well. He had always been a pompous littleman, stout and short of figure, kindly so far as they knew, althoughthey had heard of him as cruel in the pursuit of his official duties.They had once talked to him a little and he explained: "I wouldn't hurta fly, God knows," he had said, "of myself, but a man likes to do hiswork efficiently--and there are so many lazy fellows about here."

  He prided himself, they saw, on a punctilious attention to duty. When hehad to come there for some paper or other he was always extremelypolite, and if they were going away he helped them about theirpassports. He told them on another occasion that "he was pleased withlife--although one never knew of course when it might come down uponone--"

  Well, it had come down on him now. A more pitiful object Vera had neverseen. He was dressed in a dirty black suit and wore a shabby fur cap,his padded overcoat was torn.

  But the overwhelming effect of him was terror. Vera had never beforeseen such terror, and at once, as though the thing were an infectiousdisease, her own heart began to beat furiously. He was shaking so thatthe fur cap, which was too large for his head, waggled up and down overhis eye in a ludicrous manner.

  His face was dirty as though he had been crying, and a horrid pallidgrey in colour.

  His collar was torn, showing his neck between the folds of his overcoat.

  Vera looked out down the stairs as though she expected to see something.The flat was perfectly still. There was not a sound anywhere. She turnedback to the man again, he was crouching against the wall.

  "You can't come in here," she repeated. "My sister and I are alone. Whatdo you want?... What's the matter?"

  "Shut the door!... Shut the door!... Shut the door!..." he repeated.

  She closed it. "Now what is it?" she asked, and then, hearing a sound,turned to find that Nina was standing with wide eyes, watching.

  "What is it?" Nina asked in a whisper.

  "I don't know," said Vera, also whispering. "He won't tell me."

  He pushed past them then into the dining-room, looked about him for amoment, then sank into a chair as though his legs would no longersupport him, holding on to the cloth with both hands.

  The sisters followed him into the dining-room.

  "Don't shiver like that!" said Vera, "tell us why you've come inhere?"...

  His eyes looked past them, never still, wandering from wall to wall,from door to door.

  "They're after me..." he said. "That's it--I was hiding in our cupboardall last night and this morning. They were round there all the timebreaking up our things.... I heard them shouting. They were going tokill me. I've done nothing--O God! what's that?"

  "There's no one here," said Vera, "except ourselves."

  "I saw a chance to get away and I crept out. But I couldn't get far....I knew you would be good-hearted... good-hearted. Hide mesomewhere--anywhere!... and they won't come in here. Only until theevening. I've done no one any harm.... Only my duty...."

  He began to snivel, taking out from his coat a very dirtypocket-handkerchief and dabbing his face with it.

  The odd thing that they felt, as they looked at him, was the incredibleintermingling of public and private affairs. Five minutes before theyhad been passing through a tremendous crisis in their personalrelationship. The whole history of their lives together, flowing throughhow many years, through how many phases, how many quarrels, andhappiness and adventures had reached here a climax whose issue was soimportant that life between them could never be the same again.

  So urgent had been the affair that during that hour they had forgottenthe Revolution, Russia, the war. Moreover, always in the past, they hadassumed that public life was no affair of theirs. The Russo-JapaneseWar, even the spasmodic revolt in 1905, had not touched them except as awind of ideas which blew so swiftly through their private lives thatthey were scarcely affected by it.

  Now in the person of that trembling, shaking figure at their table, theRevolution had come to them, and not only the Revolution, but thestrange new secret city that Petrograd was... the whole ground wasquaking beneath them.

  And in the eyes of the fugitive they saw what terror of death reallywas. It was no tale read in a story-book, no recounting of an adventureby some romantic traveller, it was _here_ with them in the flat and atany moment....

  It was then that Vera realised that there was no time to lose--somethingmust be done at once.

  "Who's pursuing you?" she asked, quickly. "Where are they?"

  He got up and was moving about the room as though he was looking for ahiding-place.

  "All the people.... Everybody!" He turned round upon them, suddenlystriking, what seemed to them, a ludicrously grand attitude."Abominable! That's what it is. I heard them shouting that I had amachine-gun on the roof and was killing people. I had no machine-gun. Ofcourse not. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I had one. But therethey were. That's what they were shouting! And I've always done my duty.What's one to do? Obey one's superior officer? Of course, what he saysone does. What's life for?... and then naturally one expects a reward.Things were going well with me, very well indeed--and then this comes.It's a degrading thing for a man to hide for a day and a night in acupboard." His teeth began to chatter then so that he could scarcelyspeak. He seemed to be shaking with ague.

  He caught Vera's hand. "Save me--save me!" he said. "Put mesomewhere.... I've done nothing disgraceful. They'll shoot me like adog--"

  The sisters consulted.

  "What are we to do?" asked Nina. "We can't let him go out to be killed."

  "No. But if we keep him here and they come in and find him, we shall allbe involved.... It isn't fair to Nicholas or Uncle Ivan...."

  "We can't let him go out."

  "No, we can't," Vera replied. She saw at once how impossible that was.Were he caught outside and shot they would feel that they had his deathfor ever on their souls.

  "There's the linen cupboard," she said.

  She turned round to Nina. "I'm afraid," she said, "if you hide here,you'll have to go into another cupboard. And it can only be for an houror two. We couldn't keep you here all night."

  He said nothing except "Quick. Take me." Vera led him into her bedroomand showed him the place. Without another word he pressed in amongst theclothes. It was a deep cupboard, and, although he was a fat man, thedoor closed quite evenly.

  It was suddenly as though he had never been, Vera went back to Nina.

  They stood close to one another in the middle of the room, and talked inwhispers.

  "What are we going to do?"

  "We can only wait!"

  "They'll never dare to search your room, Vera."

  "One doesn't know now... everything's so different."

  "Vera, you _are_ brave. Forgive me what I said just now.... I'll helpyou if you want--"

  "Hush, Nina dear. Not that now. We've got to think--what's best...."

  They kissed very quietly, and then they sat down by the table andwaited. There was simply nothing else to do.

  Vera said that, during that pause, she could see the little policemaneverywhere. In every part of the room she found him, with his fat legsand dirty, streaky face and open collar. The flat was heavy, portentouswith his presence, as though it stood with a self-important finger onits lips saying, "I've got a secret in here. _Such_ a secret. You don'tknow what _I've_ got...."

  They discussed in whispers as to who would come in first. Nicholas orUncle Ivan or Bohun or Sacha? And supposing one of them came in whilethe soldiers were there? Who would be the most dangerous? Sacha? Shewould scream and give everything away. Suppose they had se
en him enterand were simply waiting, on the cat-and-mouse plan, to catch him? Thatwas an intolerable thought.

  "I think," said Nina, "I must go and see whether there's any oneoutside."

  But there was no need for her to do that. Even as she spoke they heardthe steps on the stairs; and instantly afterwards there came the loudknocking on their door. Vera pressed Nina's hand and went into the hall.

  "_Kto tam_... Who's there?" she asked.

  "Open the door!... The Workmen and Soldiers' Committee demand entrancein the name of the Revolution."

  She opened the door at once. During those first days of the Revolutionthey cherished certain melodramatic displays.

  Whether consciously or no they built on all the old French Revolutiontraditions, or perhaps it is that every Revolution produces of necessitythe same clothing with which to cover its nakedness. A strange mixtureof farce and terror were those detachments of so-called justice. Attheir head there was, as a rule, a student, often smiling andbespectacled. The soldiers themselves, from one of the Petrogradregiments, were frankly out for a good time and enjoyed themselvesthoroughly, but, as is the Slavonic way, playfulness could pass withsurprising suddenness to dead earnest--with, indeed, so dramatic aprecipitance that the actors themselves were afterwards amazed. Of these"little, regrettable mistakes" there had already, during the week, beenseveral examples. To Vera, with the knowledge of the contents of herlinen-cupboard, the men seemed terrifying enough. Their leader was a fatand beaming student--quite a boy. He was very polite, saying"_Zdrastvuite,"_ and taking off his cap. The men behind him--hulking menfrom one of the Guards regiments--pushed about in the little hall like alot of puppies, joking with one another, holding their rifles upsidedown, and making sudden efforts at a seriousness that they could notpossibly sustain.

  Only one of them, an older man with a thick black beard, was intenselygrave, and looked at Vera with beseeching eyes, as though he longed totell her the secret of his life.

  "What can I do for you?" she asked the student.

  "_Prosteete_... Forgive us." He smiled and blinked at her, then put onhis cap, clicked his heels, gave a salute, and took his cap off again."We wish to be in no way an inconvenience to you. We are simply obeyingorders. We have instructions that a policeman is hiding in one of theseflats.... We know, of course, that he cannot possibly be here.Nevertheless we are compelled... _Prosteete_.... What nice pictures youhave!" he ended suddenly. It was then that Vera discovered that theywere by this time in the dining-room, crowded together near the door andgazing at Nina with interested eyes.

  "There's no one here, of course," said Vera, very quietly. "No one atall."

  "_Tak Tochno_ (quite so)," said the black-bearded soldier, for noparticular reason, suddenly.

  "You will allow me to sit down?" said the student, very politely. "Imust, I am afraid, ask a few questions."

  "Certainly," said Vera quietly. "Anything you like."

  She had moved over to Nina, and they stood side by side. But she couldnot think of Nina, she could not think even of the policeman in thecupboard.... She could think only of that other house on the Quay where,perhaps even now, this same scene was being enacted. They had foundWilderling.... They had dragged him out.... Lawrence was beside him....They were condemned together.... Oh! love had come to her at last in awild, surging flood! Of all the steps she had been led until at last,only half an hour before in that scene with Nina, the curtains had beenflung aside and the whole view revealed to her. She felt such astrength, such a pride, such a defiance, as she had not known belongedto human power. She had, for many weeks, been hesitating before thegates. Now, suddenly, she had swept through. His death now was not theterror that it had been only an hour before. Nina's accusation had shownher, as a flash of lightning flings the mountains into view, that nowshe could never lose him, were he with her or no, and that beside thattruth nothing mattered.

  Something of her bravery and grandeur and beauty must have been felt bythem all at that moment. Nina realised it.... She told me that her ownfear left her altogether when she saw how Vera was facing them. She wassuddenly calm and quiet and very amused.

  The student officer seemed now to be quite at home. He had taken a greatmany notes down in a little book, and looked very important as he didso. His chubby face expressed great self-satisfaction. He talked half tohimself and half to Vera. "Yes... Yes... quite so. Exactly. And yourhusband is not yet at home, Madame Markovitch.... _Nu da...._ Of coursethese are very troublesome times, and as you say things have to move ina hurry.

  "You've heard perhaps that Nicholas Romanoff has abdicated entirely--andrefused to allow his son to succeed. Makes things simpler.... Yes....Very pleasant pictures you have--and Ostroffsky--six volumes. Veryagreeable. I have myself acted in Ostroffsky at different times. I findhis plays very enjoyable. I am sure you will forgive us, Madame, if wewalk through your charming flat."

  But indeed by this time the soldiers themselves had begun to roam abouton their own account. Nina remembers one soldier in especial--a largedirty fellow with ragged moustache--who quite frankly terrified her. Heseemed to regard her with particular satisfaction, staring at her, and,as it were, licking his lips over her. He wandered about the roomfingering things, and seemed to be immensely interested in Nicholas'slittle den, peering through the glass window that there was in the doorand rubbing the glass with his finger. He presently pushed the door openand soon they were all in there.

  Then a characteristic thing occurred. Apparently Nicholas'sinventions--his little pieces of wood and bark and cloth, his glassbottles, and tubes--seemed to them highly suspicious. There was laughterat first, and then sudden silence. Nina could see part of the roomthrough the open door and she watched them as they gathered round thelittle table, talking together in excited whispers. The tall,rough-looking fellow who had frightened her before picked up one of thetubes, and then, whether by accident or intention, let it fall, and thetinkling smash of the glass frightened them all so precipitately thatthey came tumbling out into the larger room. The big fellow whisperedsomething to the student, who at once became more self-important thanever, and said very seriously to Vera:

  "That is your husband's room, Madame, I understand?"

  "Yes," said Vera quietly, "he does his work in there."

  "What kind of work?"

  "He is an inventor."

  "An inventor of what?"

  "Various things.... He is working at present on something to do with themaking of cloth."

  Unfortunately this serious view of Nicholas's inventions suddenly seemedto Nina so ridiculous that she tittered. She could have done nothingmore regrettable. The student obviously felt that his dignity wasthreatened. He looked at her very severely:

  "This is no laughing matter," he said. He himself then got up and wentinto the inner room. He was there for some time, and they could hear himfingering the tubes and treading on the broken glass. He came out againat last.

  He was seriously offended.

  "You should have told us your husband was an inventor."

  "I didn't think it was of importance," said Vera.

  "Everything is of importance," he answered. The atmosphere was nowentirely changed. The soldiers were angry--they had, it seemed, beendeceived and treated like children. The melancholy fellow with the blackbeard looked at Vera with eyes of deep reproach.

  "When will your husband return?" asked the student.

  "I am afraid I don't know," said Vera. She realised that the situationwas now serious, but she could not keep her mind upon it. In that houseon the Quay what was happening? What had, perhaps, already happened?...

  "Where has he gone?"

  "I don't know."

  "Why didn't he tell you where he was going?"

  "He often does not tell me."

  "Ah, that is wrong. In these days one should always say where one isgoing."

  He stood up very stiff and straight. "Search the house," he said to hismen.

  Suddenly then Vera's mind concentrated. It was
as though, she told me "Icame back into the room and saw for the first time what was happening."

  "There is no one in the rest of the flat," she said, "and nothing thatcan interest you."

  "That is for me to judge," said the little officer grimly.

  "But I assure you there is nothing," she went on eagerly. "There is onlythe kitchen and the bath-room and the five bedrooms."

  "Whose bedrooms?" said the officer.

  "My husband's, my own, my sister's, my uncle's, and an Englishman's,"she answered, colouring a little.

  "Nevertheless we must do our duty.... Search the house," he repeated.

  "But you must not go into our bedrooms," she said, her voice rising."There is nothing for you there. I am sure you will respect ourprivacy."

  "Our orders must be obeyed," he answered angrily.

  "But--" she cried.

  "Silence, Madame," he said, furiously, staring at her as though she werehis personal, deadly enemy.

  "Very well," said Vera proudly. "Please do as you wish."

  The officer walked past her with his head up, and the soldiers followedhim, their eyes malicious and inquisitive and excited. The sisters stoodtogether waiting. Of course the end had come. They simply stood therefastening their resolution to the extreme moment.

  "I must go with them," said Vera. She followed them into her bedroom. Itwas a very little place and they filled it, they looked rather sheepishnow, whispering to one another.

  "What's in there?" said the officer, tapping the cupboard.

  "Only some clothes," said Vera.

  "Open it!" he ordered.

  Then the world did indeed stand still. The clock ceased to tick, thelittle rumble in the stove was silenced, the shuffling feet of one ofthe soldiers stayed, the movement of some rustle in the wall paper washeld. The world was frozen.

  "Now I suppose we shall all be shot," was Vera's thought, repeated overand over again with a ludicrous monotony. Then she could see nothing butthe little policeman, tumbling out of the cupboard, dishevelled andterrified. Terrified! what that look in his eyes would be! That at anyrate she could not face and she turned her head away from them, lookingout through the door into the dark little passage.

  She heard as though from an infinite distance the words:

  "Well, there's nobody there."

  She did not believe him of course. He said that whoever he was, to testher, to tempt her to give herself away. But she was too clever for them.She turned back and faced them, and then saw, to the accompaniment of anamazement that seemed like thunder in her ears, that the cupboard wasindeed empty.

  "There is nobody," said the black-bearded soldier.

  The student looked rather ashamed of himself. The white clothes, theskirts, and the blouses in the cupboard reproached him.

  "You will of course understand, Madame," he said stiffly, "that thesearch was inevitable. Regrettable but necessary. I'm sure you will seethat for your own satisfaction...."

  "You are assured now that there is no one here?" Vera interrupted himcoldly.

  "Assured," he answered.

  But where was the man? She felt as though she were in some fantasticnightmare in which nothing was as it seemed. The cupboard was not acupboard, the policeman not a policeman....

  "There is the kitchen," she said.

  In the kitchen of course they found nothing. There was a large cupboardin one corner but they did not look there. They had had enough. Theyreturned into the dining-room and there, looking very surprised, hishead very high above his collar was Markovitch.

  "What does this mean?" he asked.

  "I regret extremely," said the officer pompously. "I have been compelledto make a search. Duty only... I regret. But no one is here. Your flatis at liberty. I wish you good-afternoon."

  Before Markovitch could ask further questions the room was emptied ofthem all. They tramped out, laughing and joking, children again, thehall door closed behind them.

  Nina clutched Vera's arm.

  "Vera.... Vera, where is he?"

  "I don't know," said Vera.

  "What's all this?" asked Nicholas.

  They explained to him but he scarcely seemed to hear. He wasradiant--smiling in a kind of ecstasy.

  "They have gone? I am safe?"

  In the doorway was the little policeman, black with grime and dust, socomical a figure that in reaction from the crisis of ten minutes before,they laughed hysterically.

  "Oh look! look!..." cried Nina. "How dirty he is!"

  "Where have you been?" asked Vera. "Why weren't you in the cupboard?"

  The little man's teeth were chattering, so that he could scarcelyspeak....

  "I heard them in the other room. I knew that the cupboard would be thefirst place. I slipped into the kitchen and hid in the fireplace."

  "You're not angry, Nicholas?" Vera asked. "We couldn't send him out tobe shot."

  "What does that matter?" he almost impatiently brushed it aside. "Thereare other things more important." He looked at the trembling dirtyfigure. "Only you'd better go back and hide again until it's dark. Theymight come back...."

  He caught Vera by the arm. His eyes were flames. He drew her with himback into her little room. He closed the door.

  "The Revolution has come--it has really come," he cried.

  "Yes," she answered, "it has come into this very house. The world haschanged."

  "The Czar has abdicated.... The old world has gone, the old wickedworld! Russia is born again!"

  His eyes were the eyes of a fanatic.

  Her eyes, too, were alight. She gazed past him.

  "I know--I know," she whispered as though to herself.

  "Russia--Russia," he went on coming closer and closer, "Russia and you.We will build a new world. We will forget our old troubles. Oh, Vera, mydarling, my darling, we're going to be happy now! I love you so. And nowI can hope again. All our love will be clean in this new world. We'regoing to be happy at last!"

  But she did not hear him. She saw into space. A great exultation ranthrough her body. All lost for love! At last she was awakened, at lastshe lived, at last, at last, she knew what love was.

  "I love him! I love him... him," her soul whispered. "And nothing nowin this world or the next can separate us."

  "Vera--Vera," Nicholas cried, "we are together at last--as we have neverbeen. And now we'll work together again--for Russia."

  She looked at the man whom she had never loved, with a great compassionand pity. She put her arms around him and kissed him, her whole maternalspirit suddenly aware of him and seeking to comfort him.

  At the touch of her lips his body trembled with happiness. But he didnot know that it was a kiss of farewell....