"I'm glad," I said, "you _did not_ change at all, Lucie. It is just
as true--all this story of yours, as the one you told me in Petrograd.
But I have no use for reforming you. Now--take me as an example of
sincerity: in me, my dear lady, you see now, nothing but a poor man
in hiding. All for me is in the past.... And you,--I see it--are still
plotting, nothing could persuade me that you and I are here by mere
coincidence. You come to me--have time to curl your hair--and you even
don't tell me whether your intrigue could reveal my existence to
those that persecute me. You wouldn't hesitate to pass over my dead
body--for the sake of your affairs.... Again,--please do not feel
offended,--there is another side. I am a working man. Tomorrow I
must be at my job early in the morning. The night is growing old. So,
regardless of other things,--what would you advise me to do now?"
"I have nothing to say," she answered sadly and in a low voice, "You
are the Lord here."
"What do you advise me to do?" I repeated growing angry.
"I'll do anything you say," she answered blushing and lowering her
head, "I am ready."
"Lucie," I said, "It is not a question _of that_. You see I cannot put
you out on the streets. A good master would not do it to his dog. But,
on the other hand they have not yet built the Ritz here."
"I am not asking you to go from your house, Alex. I had for a
moment,--when I saw who Syvorotka was--a little ray of sunshine.
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