boy," said Sonia; and her eyes were swimming with tears.
"Do you pity the young rogue?" said the Duke.
"Yes; it's dreadful. His eyes were so terrified, and so boyish. And, to be caught like that . . . stealing . . . in the act. Oh, it's hateful!"
"Come, come, how sensitive you are!" said the Duke, in a soothing, almost caressing tone. His eyes, resting on her charming, troubled face, were glowing with a warm admiration.
"Yes; it's silly," said Sonia; "but you noticed his eyes—the hunted look in them? You pitied him, didn't you? For you are kind at bottom."
"Why at bottom?" said the Duke.
"Oh, I said at bottom because you look sarcastic, and at first sight you're so cold. But often that's only the mask of those who have suffered the most. . . . They are the most indulgent," said Sonia slowly, hesitating, picking her words.
"Yes, I suppose they are," said the Duke thoughtfully.
"It's because when one has suffered one understands. . . . Yes: one understands," said Sonia.
