Dasha threw back her head without letting go of his hands—her tears gushed out....
"I'll be faithful to you till death.... But you must go!... Try and understand—I'm not the woman you love.... But I will be, I will really!"
He heard no more—her tears, her words, the catch in her voice, made him almost drunk with joy.
He pressed her to him so hard that she felt as if her very joints were cracking.
"All right, I understand everything! Goodbye!" he whispered.
He threw himself flat on the window sill, and in another moment had slipped down like a shadow, the only sound being the light impact of his boots on the wooden roof of a shed beneath the window.
I Dasha leant out of the window, but there was nothing to be seen—only pitch darkness and distant yellow lights.
She pressed her hands to her heart…. Not a sound from outside.... But just then two figures emerged from the shadows.
Stooping low, they ran slantwise across the yard.
Dasha shrieked, so piercingly, so terribly, that the figures spun round and stood still.
They must have turned towards her window.
And at that moment she saw Tele-gin climbing over the ridge of a wooden roof at the far end of the yard.
Dasha threw herself face downwards on the bed and lay there motionless for a few moments.
She got up no less violently, and groping for a slipper that had come off, rushed into the dining room.
There she found the doctor and Govyadin in belligerent poses—her father clutching a small nickel-plated pistol, his friend brandishing an army revolver.
"Well?" they cried, both speaking together.
She clenched her fist, staring furiously into the reddish eyes of Govyadin.
"You scoundrel!" she said, shaking her fist under his pallid nose. "You'll be shot one of these days, you scoundrel, see if you aren't!"
His long face twitched and turned still paler, his beard hanging limp and lifeless.
The doctor made him a sign, but Govyadin was already shaking with rage.
"Don't shake your fist at me, Darya Dmitrevna.... I have by no means forgotten that you were once good enough to strike me—with your shoe, if I'm not mistaken.... Put down your fist... and I would advise you, in general, to show me a little more respect.''
"Semyon Semyonovich, you're wasting time," interrupted the doctor, still making signs but trying not to let Dasha see what he was doing.
"Don't you worry, Dmitri Stepanovich, Telegin won't get away from us....''
Dasha screamed and made a rush at him.
"You wouldn’t dare!" (Govyadin instantly took refuge behind a chair.)
"We'll see whether we dare or not.... I warn you, Darya Dmitrevna, the Department for Public Security takes a very great interest in you, personally.... After today's incident I won't answer for anything.
It may mean trouble for you, you know!"
"Now, now, Semyon Semyonovich, don't go too far," said the doctor angrily. "That's a little too much...."
"Everything depends on personal relations, Dmitri Stepanovich.... You know my regard for you, and my long-standing admiration for Darya Dmitrevna....''
Dasha turned suddenly pale.
Govyadin's features were contorted by the sneer on his lips, as if reflected in a flawed mirror.
Picking up his cap, he went out, his head held rigidly erect in an endeavour not to look ridiculous from the back.
The doctor sat down at the table, saying:
"Govyadin's a dangerous man."
Dasha walked up and down the room, pulling at the joints of her fingers.
She halted in front of her father:
"Where's my letter?"
The doctor, who was fumbling at his silver cigarette case, hissed a reply through closed teeth; getting the case open at last, he extracted a cigarette, squeezing it in his podgy, still tremulous fingers. '
"It's there... devil take it—where is it? In the study, on the floor."
Dasha went out of the room, and came back immediately with the letter, again standing in front of Dmitri Stepanovich.
He was trying to light up, but the flame of the match kept dancing around the tip of the cigarette.
"I only did my duty," he said, throwing the match on the floor. (Dasha said nothing.) "He's a Bolshevik, my dear... worse—a spy.... Civil war is no joke, you know, one has to be ready to sacrifice everything. That's what we're invested in power for, and the people never forgive weakness." (Dasha began slowly tearing the letter into tiny pieces as if lost in thought.) "He came—it's as dear as daylight—to get what he wanted out of me, and do me in at the first opportunity.... Did you see how he was armed!
He had a bomb.
In 1906 Governor Blok was blown to pieces by a bomb before my eyes, at the corner of Moskatelnaya Street.... You should have seen what was left of him—a limbless trunk and a tuft of beard."
The doctor's hands began trembling again, he flung aside the unfinished cigarette and took out another.
"I never did like your Telegin, it's a good thing you left him...." (Even this Dasha let pass in silence.) "Fancy beginning with such an obvious ruse—wanted to know where you were, forsooth...."
"If Govyadin gets him...."
"There's not the slightest doubt about that—Govyadin has a first-rate personnel. You were sharp with Govyadin, you know.... Govyadin's a great man.... He's thought highly of, both by the Czechs and at headquarters.... In times like these we must sacrifice our personal feelings ... for the good of the country ... remember the examples from the classics.... After all, you're my daughter; your head's stuffed with a lot of nonsense, it's true—" he laughed and cleared his throat. "But it's not a bad head...."
"If Govyadin gets him," said Dasha hoarsely, "oiu’ll do all you can to save Ivan Ilyich!"
Casting a rapid glance at his daughter, the doctor sniffed.