There were tears running down the face of the other man.  But these he shook away; and a wilder light than ever came into his eyes.

“He goes to Kiev as usual, foolish fellow; now I see what all the row is about.  When he returns, three months after, he goes to his house.  Empty.  The neighbors will not speak.  At last one says something about Pavel Michaieloff, the great proprietor, whose house and farm are some versts away—­my good fellow, you have got the palsy, or is it drink?—­he goes and seeks out the house of Pavel—­yes, yes, the story is not new—­Pavel is at the open window, smoking—­he goes up to the window—­there is a woman inside—­when she sees him she utters a loud scream, and rushes for protection to the man Michaieloff—­then all the fat is in the fire naturally—­”

The Russian choked and gasped; drops of perspiration stood on his forehead; he looked wildly around.

“Water?” said Reitzei.  “Poor devil, you need some water to cool down your excitement.  You are making as much fuss as if that kind of thing had never happened in the world before.”

But he rose and got him some water, which the man drained eagerly; then he continued his story with the same fierce and angry vehemence.

“Well, yes, he had something to complain of, certainly,” Reitzei said, translating all that incoherent passion into cool little phrases.  “Not a fair fight.  Pavel summons his men from the court-yard—­men with whips—­dogs, too—­he is lashed and driven along the roads, and the dogs tear at him!  Oh yes, my good friend, you have been badly used; but you have come a long way to tell your story.  I must ask him how the mischief he got here at all.”

But here Reitzei paused and stared.  Something the man said—­in an eager, low voice, with his sunken small eyes all afire—­startled him out of his critical air.

“Oh, that is it, is it?” he said, eyeing him.  “He will do any thing for us—­he will commit a murder—­ten murders—­if only we give him money, a knife, and help to kill the man Michaieloff.  Well, he is a lively sort of person to let loose on society.”

“The man is clearly mad,” Brand said.

“The man was madder who sent him to us,” Reitzei answered.  “I should not like to be in his shoes if Lind hears that this maniac was allowed to see his daughter.”

The wretched creature standing there glanced eagerly from one to the other, with the eyes of a wild animal, seeking to gather something from their looks; then he went forward to the table, and stooped down and spoke to Reitzei still further, in the same low, fierce voice, his whole frame meanwhile shaking with his excitement.  Reitzei said something to him in reply, and motioned him back.  He retired a step or two, and then kept watching the faces of the two men.

“What are you going to do with him?” Brand said.

Reitzei shrugged his shoulders.