ree
brothers--and their share of the land too much for them. Ah, this is the
story, then, my friend? Married, too--young, beautiful, good--yes, yes,
we know all that--"

There were tears running down the face of the other man. But these he
shook away; and a wilder light than ever came into his eyes.

"He goes to Kiev as usual, foolish fellow; now I see what all the row is
about. When he returns, three months after, he goes to his house. Empty.
The neighbors will not speak. At last one says something about Pavel
Michaieloff, the great proprietor, whose house and farm are some versts
away--my good fellow, you have got the palsy, or is it drink?--he goes
and seeks out the house of Pavel--yes, yes, the story is not new--Pavel
is at the open window, smoking--he goes up to the window--there is a
woman inside--when she sees him she utters a loud scream, and rushes
for protection to the man Michaieloff--then all the fat is in the fire
naturally--"

The Russian choked and gasped; drops of perspiration stood on his
forehead; he looked wildly around.

"Water?" said Reitzei. "Poor devil, you need some water to cool down
your excitement. You are making as much fuss as if that kind of thing
had never happened in the world before."

But he rose and got him some water, which the man drained eagerly; then
he continued his story with the same fierce and angry vehemence.

"Well, yes, he had something to complain of, certainly," Reitzei said,
translating all that incoherent passion into cool little phrases. "Not a
fair fight. Pavel summons his men from the court-yard--men with
whips--dogs, too--he is lashed and driven along the roads, and the dogs
tear at him! Oh yes, my good friend, you have been badly used; but you
have come a long way to tell your story. I must ask him how the mischief
he got here at all."

But here Reitzei paused and stared. Something the man said--in an eager,
low voice, with his sunken small eyes all afire--startled him out of his
critical air.

"Oh, that is it, is it?" he said, eyeing him. "He will do any thing for
us--he will commit a murder--ten murders--if only we give him money, a
knife, and help to kill the man Michaieloff. Well, he is a lively sort
of person to let loose on society."

"The man is clearly mad," Brand said.

"The man was madder who sent him to us," Reitzei answered. "I should not
like to be in his shoes if Lind hears that this maniac was allowed to
see his daughter."

The wretched