"He's given them up for ever." She looked at me doubtfully, as though she were wondering whether she could trust me. "He's so funny now--Nicholas, I mean. You know he was so happy when the Revolution came. Now he's in a different mood every minute. Something's happened to him that we don't know about."

"What kind of thing?" I asked.

"I don't know. He's seen something or heard something. It's some secret he's got. But Uncle Alexei knows."

"How can you tell?"

"Because he's always saying things that make Nicholas angry, and we can't see anything in them at all.... Uncle Alexei's very clever."

"Yes, he is," I agreed. "But you haven't told me why you were crying just now."

She looked at me. She gave a little shiver. "Oh, you do look ill!...

Everything's going wrong together, isn't it?"

And with that she suddenly left me, hurrying away from me, leaving me miserable and apprehensive of some great trouble in store for all of us.

IV

It is impossible to explain how disturbed I was by Nina's news. Semyonov living in the flat! He must have some very strong reason for this, to leave his big comfortable flat for the pokiness of the Markovitches'!

And then that the Markovitches should have him! There were already inhabitants enough--Nicholas, Vera, Nina, Uncle Ivan, Bohun. Then the inconvenience and discomfort of Nicholas's little hole as a bedroom! How Semyonov must loathe it!

From that moment the Markovitches' flat became for me the centre of my drama. Looking back I could see now how all the growing development of the story had centred round those rooms. I did not of course know at this time of that final drama of the Thursday afternoon, but I knew of the adventure with the policeman, and it seemed to me that the flat was a cup into which the ingredients were being poured one after another until at last the preparation would be complete, and then....

Oh, but I cared for Nina and Vera and Nicholas--yes, and Jerry too! I wanted to see them happy and at peace before I left them--in especial Nicholas.

And Semyonov came closer to them and closer, following some plan of his own and yet, after all, finally like a man driven by a power, constructed it might be, out of his own very irony.

I made a kind of bet with fate that by Easter Day every one should be happy by then.

Next day, the 15th of April, was the great funeral for the victims of the Revolution. I believe, although of course at that time I had heard nothing, that there had been great speculation about the day, many people thinking that it would be an excuse for further trouble, the Monarchists rising, or the "Soviet" attacking the Provisional Government, or Milyukoff and his followers attacking the Soviet. They need not have been alarmed. No one had as yet realised the lengths that Slavonic apathy may permit itself....

I went down about half-past ten to the Square at the end of the Sadovaya and found it filled with a vast concourse of peasants, not only the Square was filled, but the Sadovaya as far as the eye could see. They were arranged in perfect order, about eight in a row, arm in arm. Every group carried its banner, and far away into the distance one could see the words "Freedom," "Brotherhood," "The Land for All," "Peace of the World," floating on the breeze. Nevertheless, in spite of these fine words, it was not a very cheering sight. The day was wretched--no actual rain, but a cold damp wind blowing and the dirty snow, half ice and half water; the people themselves were not inspiring. They were all, it seemed, peasants. I saw very few workmen, although I believe that mult.i.tudes were actually in the procession. Those strange, pale, Eastern faces, pa.s.sive, apathetic, ignorant, childish, unreasoning, stretched in a great cloud under the grey overhanging canopy of the sky. They raised if once and again a melancholy little tune that was more wail than anything else. They had stood there, I was told, in pools of frozen water for hours, and were perfectly ready to stand thus for many hours more if they were ordered to do so. As I regarded their ignorance and apathy I realised for the first time something of what the Revolution had already done.

A hundred million of these children--ignorant, greedy, pathetic, helpless, revengeful--let loose upon the world! Where were their leaders? Who, indeed, would their leaders be? The sun sometimes broke through for a moment, but the light that it threw on their faces only made them more pallid, more death-like. They did not laugh nor joke as our people at home would have done.... I believe that very few of them had any idea why they were there....

Suddenly the word came down the lines to move forward. Very slowly, wailing their little tune, they advanced.

But the morning was growing old and I must at once see Vera. I had made up my mind, during the night, to do anything that lay in my power to persuade Vera and Nina to leave their flat. The flat was the root of all their trouble, there was something in its atmosphere, something gloomy and ominous. They would be better at the other end of the town, or, perhaps, over on the Va.s.sily Ostrov. I would show Vera that it was a fatal plan to have Semyonov to live with them (as in all probability she herself knew well enough), and their leaving the flat was a very good excuse for getting rid of him. I had all this in my head as I went along. I was still feeling ill and feeble, and my half-hour's stand in the market-place had seriously exhausted me. I had to lean against the walls of the houses every now and then; it seemed to me that, in the pale watery air, the whole world was a dream, the high forbiding flats looking down on to the dirty ice of the ca.n.a.ls, the water dripping, dripping, dripping.... No one was about. Every one had gone to join in the procession. I could see it, with my mind's eye, unwinding its huge tails through the watery-oozing channels of the town, like some pale-coloured snake, crawling through the misty labyrinths of a marsh.

In the flat I found only Uncle Ivan sitting very happily by himself at the table playing patience. He was dressed very smartly in his English black suit and a black bow tie. He behaved with his usual elaborate courtesy to me but, to my relief, on this occasion, he spoke Russian.

It appeared that the Revolution had not upset him in the least. He took, he a.s.sured me, no interest whatever in politics. The great thing was "to live inside oneself," and by living inside oneself he meant, I gathered, that one should be entirely selfish. Clothes were important, and food and courteous manners, but he must say that he could not see that one would be very much worse off even though one were ruled by the Germans--one might, indeed, be a great deal more comfortable. And as to this Revolution he couldn't really understand why people made such a fuss. One cla.s.s or another cla.s.s what did it matter? (As to this he was, I fear, to be sadly undeceived. He little knew that, before the year was out, he would be shovelling snow in the Morskaia for a rouble an hour.) So centred was he upon himself that he did not notice that I looked ill.

He offered me a chair, indeed, but that was simply his courteous manners. Very ridiculous, he thought, the fuss that Nicholas made about the Revolution--very ridiculous the fuss that he made about everything....

Alexei had been showing Nicholas how ridiculous he was.

"Oh, has he?" said I. "How's he been doing that?"

Laughing at him, apparently. They all laughed at him. It was his own fault.

"Alexei's living with us now, you know."

"Yes, I know," I said, "what's he doing that for?"

"He wanted to," said Uncle Ivan simply. "He's always done what he's wanted to, all his life."

"It makes it a great many of you in one small flat."

"Yes, doesn't it?" said Uncle Ivan amiably. "Very pleasant--although, Ivan Andreievitch, I will admit to you quite frankly that I've always been frightened of Alexei. He has such a very sharp tongue. He discovers one's weak spots in a marvellous manner.... We all have weak spots you know," he added apologetically.

"Yes, we have," I said.

Then, to my relief, Vera came in. She was very sweet to me, expressing much concern about my illness, asking me to stay and have my meal with them.... She suddenly broke off. There was a letter lying on the table addressed to her. I saw at once that it was in Nina's handwriting.

"Nina! Writing to _me_!" She picked it up, stood back looking at the envelope before she opened it. She read it, then turned on me with a cry.

"Nina!... She's gone!"

"Gone!" I repeated, starting at once.

"Yes.... Read!" She thrust it into my hand.

In Nina's sprawling schoolgirl hand I read:

Dear Vera--I've left you and Nicholas for ever.... I have been thinking of this for a long time, and now Uncle Alexei has shown me how foolish I've been, wanting something I can't have. But I'm not a child any longer. I must lead my own life.... I'm going to live with Boris who will take care of me. It's no use you or any one trying to prevent me. I will not come back. I must lead my own life now. Nina.

Vera was beside herself.

"Quick! Quick! Some one must go after her. She must be brought back at once. Quick! _Scora! Scora_!... I must go. No, she is angry with me. She won't listen to me. Ivan Andreievitch, you must go. At once! You must bring her back with you. Darling, darling Nina!... Oh, my G.o.d, what shall I do if anything happens to her!"

She clutched my arm. Even as she spoke, she had got my hat and stick.

"This is Alexei Petrovitch," I said.

"Never mind who it is," she answered. "She must be brought back at once.

She is so young. She doesn't know.... Boris--Oh! it's impossible. Don't leave without bringing her back with you."

Even old Uncle Ivan seemed distressed.

"Dear, dear..." he kept repeating, "dear, dear.... Poor little Nina.

Poor little Nina--"

"Where does Grogoff live?" I asked.

"16 Gagarinskaya.... Flat 3. Quick. You must bring her back with you.

Promise me."