'Yes . . . yes . . . yes!' he repeated; 'what a misfortune! And he's here now—to-day—for a while; you know we never keep that sort with us longer than one night; but the commander of police is out of the town, so your brother-in-law's been detained.. . . But to-morrow they will forward him. Dear me! how very unfortunate! How distressed your wife must be! What is it you wish?'
'I should have liked to have an interview with him, here—if it's not contrary to law.'
'My dear fellow! laws are not made for men like you. I do feel for you! . . . C'est affreux, tu sais!'
He gave a peculiar ring. An adjutant appeared.
'My dear baron, if you please—some arrangements here.' He told him what he wanted. The baron vanished. 'Only fancy, mon cher ami, you know they all but murdered him. They tied his hands behind him, clapped him in a cart, and off they went with him! And he—fancy! isn't in the least angry with them—not a bit indignant—dear, dear! He's so composed altogether. . . . I was astonished! but there, you will see for yourself. C'est un fanatique tranquille.'
'Ce sont les pires,' Kallomyetsev pronounced sententiously.
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