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"Well, we shall make him talk," said Kerbakh. He left his carriage and, going up to the boy, asked him: "Do you know where Trirodov's school is?" The boy silently pointed to one of the roads with his hand. Then he ran off quickly, and disappeared somewhere among the bushes. At last the road went along a fence. Everything all around seemed deserted and quiet.
"That's the fellow," said Zherbenev. "I also meant him," said Kerbakh. "Excellent!" exclaimed Zherbenev. "We seem to agree about him. So you see, Glafira Pavlovna, we ought to invite him into our union. He would be a most useful man. Once mention Jews to him and he begins to howl like a dog on a chain." "Of course we ought to have him," decided Glafira Pavlovna.
Egorka was buried. His mother wept long over his grave in long-drawn-out wails, then went home. She was convinced that her boy would be far better off there than upon the earth, and was consoled. But such truly Russian people as Kerbakh, Ostrov, and others would not be consoled. They let loose evil rumours. The report spread: "The Jews have tortured a Christian boy.
A new-comer at the next table, a stranger apparently to those present, was giving an order for a bottle of beer. Of middle age and medium height, he was stout, or rather flabby; he had small glittering eyes; and his dress had seen much wear. Kerbakh and Zherbenev gave him an occasional passing glance, not of a very friendly nature.
The thin, shrill outcry and the movement of the finger towards the child's breast were so unexpected by the boy that he trembled and gave a choking sound. Some one behind him laughed, another gave an amused chuckle. Doulebova exchanged glances with Kerbakh and shrugged her shoulders; her face expressed horror. The boy quickly recovered himself and read the prayer.
Kerbakh and Zherbenev were the most frequent guests at Glafira Pavlovna's cosy, hospitable house. Evil tongues made slander of this, and associated her name now with Kerbakh, now with Zherbenev. But this was a calumny. Her heart had only a place for a young official who served as a private secretary to the Governor.
"I haven't yet had time to become a friend of Trirodov's," Piotr answered sharply, "and I don't intend to. As for his friends, nearly every one has his more or less strange acquaintance." And he quickly left with Misha. Ostrov glanced after him with a smile and said: "A grave young man." "Mr. Trirodov has bought some land belonging to him and his brother," explained Kerbakh.
The Headmaster said sharply and excitedly: "Your school if this awful, impossible establishment can be called a school will be closed at once. I will make the application to the District to-day." Trirodov replied sharply: "That you can do." Soon the visitors left in an ugly frame of mind. Doulebova hissed and waxed indignant the whole way back. "He's clearly a dangerous man," observed Kerbakh.
Indeed his words and his whole demeanour were provokingly arrogant. But it was impossible to be rude with him. His words were proper enough in themselves. "We haven't met for some years," Ostrov went on. "How does he manage to get on?" "Mr. Trirodov is to all appearances a rich man," said Kerbakh unwillingly. "A rich man? That's agreeable news. In fact, this wealth of Mr.
Kerbakh and Zherbenev were talking nonsense, and he sat down near them and seemed very interested in you." "Rather flattering," said Trirodov unwillingly. "I cannot say to what an extent it is flattering," said Piotr maliciously. "In my opinion there was little to recommend him. His appearance was rather suspicious that of a ragamuffin, in fact. Though he insists he's an actor, I have my doubts.
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