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Updated: July 31, 2024
"Very well. And now let us make everything as clear as in a looking-glass. What class do you wish to make the person belong to? The commercial or the nobility?" "I think the nobility would be best," said Bodlevski. "Certainly! At least that will give the right of free passage through all the towns and districts of the Russian Empire. Let us see. Have we not something that will suit?"
A few days after the reception at Prince Shadursky's Baroness von Döring was installed in a handsome apartment on Mokhovoi Street, at which her "brother," Ian Karozitch, or, to give him his former name, Bodlevski, was a frequent visitor. By a "lucky accident" he had met on the day following the reception our old friend Sergei Antonovitch Kovroff, the "captain of the Golden Band."
He had no fears while turning white paper into banknotes in the seclusion of his own workshop, but he was full of apprehensions concerning his present guest, because several people had to be let into the secret. Yuzitch presently appeared through the same low door and, coming up to Bodlevski, explained that the passport would cost twenty rubles.
"Brothers, brothers!" cried Yuzitch in a good-humored tone; "we are losing precious time! Forgive him!" he added, turning to Pacomius. "You must forgive him!" "I forgive him," answered Pacomius, but the light in his eye showed that he was deeply offended. "Well," he went on, addressing Bodlevski, "will it suit you to have the person pass as Maria Solontseva, widow of a college assessor?"
"No, joking aside," she continued seriously, drawing nearer Bodlevski, "I have thought of something out of the common; you will be grateful. I have no time to explain it all now. You will know later on. The main thing is learn her handwriting." "But what is it all for?" said Bodlevski wonderingly.
"No, joking aside," she continued seriously, drawing nearer Bodlevski, "I have thought of something out of the common; you will be grateful. I have no time to explain it all now. You will know later on. The main thing is learn her handwriting." "But what is it all for?" said Bodlevski wonderingly.
Before narrating the adventures of these distinguished persons, let us go back twenty years, and ask what became of Natasha and Bodlevski. When last we saw them the ship that carried them away from Russia was gliding across the Gulf of Bothnia toward the Swedish coast.
Their recognition was mutual, and, after a more or less faithful recital of the events of the intervening years, they had entered into an offensive and defensive alliance. When Baroness von Döring was comfortably settled in her new quarters, Sergei Antonovitch brought a visitor to Bodlevski: none other than the Hungarian nobleman, Count Nicholas Kallash.
They agreed that their present position, with Kallash's threats hanging over their heads, was intolerable. But what was to be done? Bodlevski paced up and down the room, biting his lips, and seeking some decisive plan. "We must act in such a way," he said, coming to a stand before the baroness, "as to get rid of this fellow once for all.
And might it not happen that this same lithographer Bodlevski should get false passports at the Cave, for himself and his sweetheart, and flee with her across the frontier, and might not this same maid, twenty years later, return to Russia under the name of Baroness von Doring? You must admit that there is nothing fantastic in all this! What is the use of concealing? You see I know everything!"
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