friend of Sophia Kensky....
Ah! it is sad about your poor friends."

The girl turned cold and clenched her teeth to take the news which was
coming.

"They tried to escape and they were shot down by our brave guard. I
would have pardoned them for your sake, all but the thief, who broke
the jaw of comrade Alex Alexandroff. Yes, I would have pardoned them
to-night, because I am happy. Else they would have died with Sophia
Kensky in the morning.... Do I not please you, that I put away this
woman, who was my eyes and saw for me--all for your sake, my little
pigeon, all for your sake!... Do you see a big man with one eye? He has
half my misfortune, yet he sees a million times more than Boolba! That
is the butcher Kreml--some day he shall see the Kreml[A]," he
chuckled.... "Why do you not speak, my darling little mama? Are you
thinking of the days when I was Boolba the slave? Na, na, _stoi_! Think
of to-day, to-night, my little child of Jesus!"

There were times when she could have screamed, moments of madness when
she longed to pick up one of the champagne bottles which littered the
floor, and at intervals were thrown with a crash into a corner of the
room, and strike him across that great brutal face. There were times
when she was physically sick and the room spun round and round and she
would have fallen but for the man's arm. But the hour she dreaded most
of all came at last, when, one by one, with coarse jests at her
expense, the motley company melted away and left her alone with the
man.

"They have all gone?" he asked eagerly. "Every one?"

He clutched more tightly.

"To my room. We have a supper for ourselves. They are pigs, all these
fellows, my little beautiful."

The old carpet was still on the stairs, she noticed dully. Up above used
to be her own room, at the far end of the long passage. She had a piano
there once. She wondered whether it was still there. There used to be a
servant at the head and at the foot of these stairs--a long,
green-coated Cossack, to pass whom without authority was to court death.
The room on the left had been her father's--two big saloons, separated
by heavy silken curtains; his bureau was at one end, his bedroom at the
other.

It was into the bureau that the man groped his way. A table had been
set, crowded with bottles and glasses, piled with fruit, sweetmeats, and
at the end the inevitable samovar.

"I will lock the door," said Boolba. "Now you shall kiss me on the eyes
a