ntion
to the fact that I've been chosen housekeeper. It's got to be so. But
let them do as they wish, only don't let them trip me up. I am as
before--their friend and intercessor ... And further on we'll see."

CHAPTER VII.

On the next day, on Sunday, Tamara had a multitude of cares. She had
become possessed by a firm and undeviating thought to bury her friend
despite all circumstances, in the way that nearest friends are
buried--in a Christian manner, with all the sad solemnity of the burial
of secular persons.

She belonged to the number of those strange persons who underneath an
external indolent calmness, careless taciturnity, egotistical
withdrawal into one's self, conceal within them unusual energy; always
as though slumbering with half an eye, guarding itself from unnecessary
expenditure; but ready in one moment to become animated and to rush
forward without reckoning the obstacles.

At twelve o'clock she descended in a cab into the old town; rode
through it into a little narrow street giving out upon a square where
fairs were held; and stopped near a rather dirty tea-room, having
ordered the cabby to wait. In the room she made inquiries of a boy,
red-haired, with a badger hair-cut and the parting slicked down with
butter, if Senka the Depot had not come here? The serving lad, who,
judging by his refined and gallant readiness, had already known Tamara
for a long time, answered that "Nohow, ma'am; they--Semen Ignatich--had
not been in yet, and probably would not be here soon seein' as how
yesterday they had the pleasure of going on a spree at the Transvaal,
and had played at billiards until six in the morning; and that now
they, in all probabilities, are at home, in the Half Way House rooms,
and if the young lady will give the word, then it's possible to hop
over to them this here minute."

Tamara asked for paper and pencil, and wrote a few words right on the
spot. Then she gave the note to the waiter, together with a half-rouble
piece for a tip, and rode away.

The following visit was to the artiste Rovinskaya, living, as Tamara
had known even before, in the city's most aristocratic
hotel--Europe--where she occupied several rooms in a consecutive suite.
To obtain an interview with the singer was not very easy: the doorman
below said that it looked as if Ellena Victorovna was not at home;
while her own personal maid, who came out in answer to Tamara's
knocking, declared that madam had a headache,