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He may have had Semyonov's contempt for the Revolutionary idealist, he may have had Wilderling's belief in the Czar's autocracy, he may have had Boris Grogoff's enthusiasm for freedom and a general holiday. I don't know. I know nothing at all about it. I don't think that he saw much of the Wilderlings during the earlier part of the week.
Not Wilderling's death nor mine either, except that if I was dead I'd be out of it and wouldn't be able to help her. They talk about men with one idea. From that moment I had only one idea in all the world I don't know that I've had any other one since. They talk about scruples, moralities, traditions.
Different from Wilderling's, isn't it? Poor devil.... I'm going to have a bath if you don't mind I've got to clear my head." He dragged out a tin bath from under his bed, then a big can of water from a corner. Stripped, he looked so thick and so strong, with his short neck and his bull-dog build, that I couldn't help saying,
Lawrence followed him; when he had gone a few steps down the passage he heard suddenly a sharp, muffled report. "What's that?" Andre came close to him, his old, seamed face white like plaster. "He has a rifle in there..." he said. "He's shooting at them!" Then as Lawrence stepped up to the door of the little room that was Wilderling's dressing-room, Andre caught his arm .
"But to be in Wilderling's company this week is a very unhealthy thing for any 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 one then said a word. There was a long pause. At last Semyonov saw fit to go. "I'm off to the Duma," he said.
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