"Very well, thank God. . . . Don't tell anyone, sir, will you?" she added suddenly in a whisper.
"That's all right," I reassured her. "But how reckless you are, Agasha! . . . What if Yakov finds out?"
"He won't find out."
"But what if he does?"
"No . . . I shall be at home before he is. He is on the line now, and he will come back when the mail train brings him, and from here I can hear when the train's coming. . . ."
Agafya once more passed her hand over her forehead and looked away in the direction in which Savka had vanished. The nightingale was singing. Some night bird flew low down close to the ground and, noticing us, was startled, fluttered its wings and flew across to the other side of the river.
Soon the nightingale was silent, but Savka did not come back. Agafya got up, took a few steps uneasily, and sat down again.
"What is he doing?" she could not refrain from saying. "The train's not coming in to-morrow! I shall have to go away directly."
"Savka," I shouted. "Savka."
I was not answered even by an echo. Agafya moved uneasily and sat down again.
"It's time I was going," she said in an agitated voice. "The train will be here directly! I know when the trains come in."
The poor woman was not mistaken. Before a quarter of an hour had passed a sound was heard in the distance.
