from Siberia? How long have you been here? … I had not been told——"
"The manifesto: an amnesty … Five years. Yes, five have passed by. I arrived last week, and have seen nobody but Obojanski. He did not even know your address! Was that nice of you? … Oh, how greatly you have changed! … No, I did not expect such backsliding on your part … I have heard many things said …"
"And what about yourself?"
I saw that his plain face, which was now adorned with a thin stubbly beard, was much emaciated. His former careless smile was now quite gone, and his features were darkened and bronzed like a peasant's.
"I?" He smiled, but with his lips only, that were always drawn: once with suffering, now with having suffered. "I? You never would guess. I married down there; yes, I married a fellow-exile. And we have a son."
"But what of your health? And what are you going to do in Warsaw?"
"Something or other." He raised his hand, palm down, then let it drop limply. "At present I am more or less amongst the unemployed.
