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With an effort, biting her lip and screwing up her eyes, she drew the blade out of the scabbard and put it to her nose. "Oh, how blunt! I can kill you with it in a minute!" She waved it at Kuzma Vassilyevitch. He pretended to be frightened and laughed. She laughed too. "Ihr habt pardon, you are pardoned," she pronounced, throwing herself into a majestic attitude. "There, take your weapon!
A year and a half later Kuzma Vassilyevitch received a letter in German from Emilie, alias Frederika Bengel, which he promptly had translated for him and showed us more than once in later days. It was full of mistakes in spelling and exclamation marks; the postmark on the envelope was Breslau.
Knowing only too well the character of our companion, we did not trouble to fill in his gaps and incomplete statements. But now Kuzma Vassilyevitch is dead and there will be no one to tell his story and so we venture to bring it before the notice of the public. It happened forty years ago when Kuzma Vassilyevitch was young.
First there was the sound of one chord, then a second and a third and a fourth the sound continually growing louder and fuller. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was surprised: Emilie certainly had a guitar but it only had three strings: he had not yet bought her any new ones; besides, Emilie was not at home. Who could it be?
Your amiable Emilie." Kuzma Vassilyevitch was inwardly surprised at the accomplishments of his charmer, gave the Jew boy a copper coin and told him to say, "Very well, I will come." Kuzma Vassilyevitch kept his word: five o'clock had not struck when he was standing before Madame Fritsche's gate.
Again a chord was struck and so loudly that it seemed as though it were in the room.... Kuzma Vassilyevitch turned round and almost cried out in a fright. Before him, in a low doorway which he had not till then noticed a big cupboard screened it stood a strange figure ... neither a child nor a grown-up girl.
Driving through the fresh air, however where at first I muttered and fidgeted about so much that Kuzma, my coachman, asked me what was the matter I soon found this feeling pass away, and began to meditate quietly concerning my love for Sonetchka and her relations with her mother, which had appeared to me rather strange.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch instantly fixed his eyes on the mysterious door. It remained closed. He coughed loudly once or twice so as to make known his presence.... The door did not stir. He held his breath, strained his ears.... He heard not the faintest sound or rustle; everything was still as death.
Two yellow wax candles were burning on a round table in front of a low sofa. In the corner stood a bedstead under a muslin canopy with silk stripes and a long amber rosary with a red tassle at the end hung by the pillow. "But excuse me, who are you?" repeated Kuzma Vassilyevitch. "Sister ... sister of Emilie." "You are her sister? And you live here?" "Yes ... yes."
It happened in the spring at Nikolaev, at that time a new town, to which Kuzma Vassilyevitch had been sent on a government commission.
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