utterly unknown to her, a torn scrap of cardboard with a vine-branch sketched on it, and two hundred and seventy-nine roubles.)
'Where's Ostrodumov? Is he with you?'
'No. He's near here . . . he got stuck on the way. But he'll come when he's wanted. Pimen's all right. No need to worry about him.'
'How did you come here?'
'In a cart . . . how else should I? Give me another match.. . .'
Solomin gave her a lighted match.
'Vassily Fedotitch!' a voice whispered all at once at the door. 'Please, sir!'
'Who's there? What do you want?'
'Please come,' the voice repeated with persuasive insistency. 'There's some strange workmen come here; they keep jawing away, and Pavel Yegoritch isn't here.'
Solomin excused himself, got up and went out.
Mashurina fell to staring at Marianna, and stared at her so long that the latter was quite out of countenance.
'Forgive me,' she said suddenly in her gruff, abrupt voice; 'I'm a rough sort, I don't know how to put things. Don't be angry; you needn't answer if you don't want to. Are you the girl that ran away from the Sipyagins'?'
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