"Things are looking bad, sir!" he said.

"Yes, my friend; goodness only knows when we shall get away!"

Hereupon he became still more uneasy, and, bending towards me, he said
in a whisper:

"It is uncanny here! I met an under-officer from the Black Sea
to-day--he's an acquaintance of mine--he was in my detachment last year.
When I told him where we were staying, he said, 'That place is uncanny,
old fellow; they're wicked people there!'... And, indeed, what sort of
a blind boy is that? He goes everywhere alone, to fetch water and to buy
bread at the bazaar. It is evident they have become accustomed to that
sort of thing here."

"Well, what then? Tell me, though, has the mistress of the place put in
an appearance?"

"During your absence to-day, an old woman and her daughter arrived."

"What daughter? She has no daughter!"

"Goodness knows who it can be if it isn't her daughter; but the old
woman is sitting over there in the hut now."

I entered the hovel. A blazing fire was burning in the stove, and they
were cooking a dinner which struck me as being a rather luxurious one
for poor people. To all my questions the old woman replied that she was
deaf and could not hear me. There was nothing to be got out of her. I
turned to the blind boy who was sitting in front of the stove, putting
twigs into the fire.

"Now, then, you little blind devil," I said, taking him by the ear.
"Tell me, where were you roaming with the bundle last night, eh?"

The blind boy suddenly burst out weeping, shrieking and wailing.

"Where did I go? I did not go anywhere... With the bundle?... What
bundle?"

This time the old woman heard, and she began to mutter:

"Hark at them plotting, and against a poor boy too! What are you
touching him for? What has he done to you?"

I had enough of it, and went out, firmly resolved to find the key to the
riddle.

I wrapped myself up in my felt cloak and, sitting down on a rock by the
fence, gazed into the distance. Before me stretched the sea, agitated
by the storm of the previous night, and its monotonous roar, like the
murmur of a town over which slumber is beginning to creep, recalled
bygone years to my mind, and transported my thoughts northward to our
cold Capital. Agitated by my recollections, I became oblivious of my
surroundings.

About an hour passed thus, perhaps even longer. Suddenly something
resembling a song struck upon my ear. It was a song, and the voice was a
woman's, young and