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If the door should open now, and Galitsin should come in the ox! How he would stare! And Bobo, poor devil, he would take me for a thief in my own Studio. God, what is that? a step on the stairs! The police! They come preying like beasts and seize one at night. She told me!" The gypsey's hand trembled and shook, and the wick of the lamp flared up. Great heaven!
It makes a difference of thousands of roubles to me as well as to you; remember that. You musicians have no conscience. Come, Velasco are you listening?" The Musician stood listless, his hands in his pockets, staring down at the bricks of the chimney piece. "What is that?" he exclaimed, "Were you speaking? Oh, damn you, Galitsin, why don't you go? I'm not a slave!
I shall meet you at the station." "Very well. Good-bye." "The Night Express?" The Musician closed his eyes and nodded. "You cackle like an old woman, Galitsin; you would talk a cricket dumb. Send me up Bobo, if you see him, will you? Good-bye." Galitsin took out his watch. "In three hours then," he said, "Au revoir! You have plenty of time to pack. Eleven thirty, Velasco."
Don't be so excitable, so violent! No wonder you play with such passion; but I am not a violin, if you please. Take your hands off my throat and sit down." "Where is she?" Galitsin straightened his collar and necktie before the mirror of the mantel-piece. "What is the matter with you, Velasco? Any one would suppose you were in love with her! Better not; she is doomed she is practically dead."
He was pushing her gently towards the curtain. "Quick!" he whispered, "Be quick!" They both listened for a moment. Then he pushed her inside and dragged down the curtain: "Now, I must pack," he cried, "Now I must prepare to meet Galitsin, the round-eyed ox! Ha ha! He will wait until he is stiff, and then he will fly back here in a rage. Good God, we must hurry!"
The thing has been hushed up for the sake of Mezkarpin, poor man! The Chief told me he had had a stroke in the prison and may not recover. The girl must be a tigress! Velasco! Are you asleep? Wake up! Velasco!" "What mines did you say, Galitsin?" "The Ékaterinski Zavad." "They have started already?" "Yesterday." "The Chief told you that?" "The Chief himself told me." "Did he mention the route?"
"A bomb, a bomb! In the name of all the saints! If he should drop it they were doomed, they were dead men!" The eyes of the lackey were bulging with terror and he stood riveted to the spot. In the meantime the young man had snatched out his watch and was holding it up into a patch of moonlight. "Twenty past the hour!" he exclaimed, "and old Galitsin fuming, I'll be bound!
"Tell him his manager, Galitsin, is here and must speak to him at once." "Very well, Bárin, but he is composing. He has been composing for days Monsieur knows?" "I know," said the Manager.
They were heavy and weary, he could scarcely keep them open; his fingers strummed against the arm of the chair and he began to whistle to himself softly, a quaint little Polish air like a folk-song. Galitsin shook his head frowning: "You are a perfect child, Velasco, when this mood gets hold of you. There is no doing anything with you. Very well then, I wash my hands of the whole business.
I told Bobo to keep people out, the treacherous rascal! For heavens sake go and leave me in peace; I tell you Galitsin, go! Don't come near me." The Manager laughed: "Composing, Velasco?" "Can't you see it? Of course I am composing. Go!" He waved his hand towards the door. "Don't talk."
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