“What’s that?” the old man exclaimed, jumping awkwardly, because water from her cape had dripped down on one of his bare feet. “Weegan killed? And the bank robbed?”
“Yes! Isn’t it terrible?” She said it as if she were saying wonderful. “When the first explosion woke us, the general sent Ignati down to find out what was the matter, and he got down there just in time to see the bank blown up. Listen!”
We listened, and heard a wild outbreak of mixed gunfire.
“That will be the general arriving!” she said. “He’ll enjoy himself most wonderfully. As soon as Ignati returned with the news, the general armed every male in the household from Aleksandr Sergyeevich to Ivan the cook, and led them out happier than he’s been since he took his division to East Prussia in 1914.”
“And the duchess?” Hendrixson asked.
“He left her at home with me, of course, and I furtively crept out and away from her while she was trying for the first time in her life to put water in a samovar. This is not the night for one to stay at home!”
“H‑m‑m,” Hendrixson said, his mind obviously not on her words. “And the bank!”
He looked at me. I said nothing. The racket of another volley came to us.
“Could you do anything down there?” he asked.
“Maybe, but—” I nodded at the presents under their covers.
“Oh, those!” the old man said. “I’m as much interested in the bank as in them; and, besides, we will be here.”