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See what they've been doing near Riga! It says...." "Can't you leave it alone, Alexei? Keep your paper to yourself!" These words came in so strange a note, a tone so different from Markovitch's ordinary voice, that they were, to Bohun, like a warning blow on the shoulder. "There's gratitude when I'm trying to interest you! How childish, too, not to face the real situation!
This sense of his protection had developed in him an affection for the man that he would not otherwise have felt. He did not, of course, know of any of Markovitch's deepest troubles. He could only guess at his relations with Vera, and he did not understand the passionate importance that he attached to his Russian idea.
He could only see the little window as the dimmest and darkest square of shadow behind Markovitch's candle, but he was sure that this was so. He could even see Semyonov standing there, in his shirt, with his thick legs, his head a little raised, listening... For what seemed an endless time Markovitch did not move. He also seemed to be listening.
Soon after that, feeling that I could do no more towards retrieving an evening definitely lost, I departed. At the last I caught Markovitch's eye. He seemed to be watching for something. A new invention perhaps. He was certainly an unhappy man. I was to meet Jerry Lawrence sooner than I had expected. And it was in this way.
At Ilya Markovitch's, the converted Jew's, I was told that I could not drive at night; the road was bad; that I must remain till next day. Very good, I stayed. After tea I sat down to write you this letter, interrupted by the visit of the "president." The president is a rich mixture of Nozdryov, Hlestakov and a cur.
And now the moment for the event of the evening had arrived. The doors of Markovitch's little work-room were suddenly opened, and there instead of the shabby untidy dark little hole there was a splendid Christmas Tree blazing with a hundred candles. Coloured balls and frosted silver and wooden figures of red and blue hung all about the tree it was most beautifully done.
He did not see, of course, his own progress since that day, or the many things that Russia had already done for him, but he did feel that such situations as the one he was now sharing were, to-day, much more in the natural order of things than they would have been four months before.... He dozed off and then was awakened, sharply, abruptly, by the sound of Markovitch's padded feet.
"I tell you," screamed Grogoff, now so excited that he was standing on his feet and waving his glass in the air, "that this time you have not cowards to deal with. This will not be as it was in 1905; I know of what I'm speaking." Semyonov leant over the table and whispered something in Markovitch's ear. I had seen that Markovitch had already been longing to speak.
We shouted. Some one cried "Cheers for our host and hostess!" We gave them, and in no half measure. We shouted. Boris Grogoff cried, "More cheers!" It was then that I saw Markovitch's face that had been puckered with pleasure like the face of a delighted child suddenly stiffen, his hand moved forward, then dropped.
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