"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.