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Pyotr Mihalitch was tempted to say, "Don't meddle in what does not concern you," but he held his tongue. Vlassitch walked by his right stirrup and Zina by the left; both seemed to have forgotten that they had to go home. It was damp, and they had almost reached Koltovitch's copse.
He rode up to the dark figure: it was an old rotten post, the relic of some shed. From Koltovitch's copse and garden there came a strong fragrant scent of lilies of the valley and honey-laden flowers. Pyotr Mihalitch rode along the bank of the pond and looked mournfully into the water.
Towards morning the divinity student died of the torture and his body was hidden. They say it was thrown into Koltovitch's pond. There was an inquiry, but the Frenchman paid some thousands to some one in authority and went away to Alsace. His lease was up just then, and so the matter ended." "What scoundrels!" said Zina, shuddering. "My father remembered Olivier and his daughter well.
When they stopped near Koltovitch's copse to say good-bye, he bent down to Zina, touched her shoulder, and said: "You are right, Zina! You have done well." To avoid saying more and bursting into tears, he lashed his horse and galloped into the wood.
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