Meanwhile Siliavka had set Girshel on his legs. The Jew opened his eyes,
saw me, and flung himself on his knees before me.

Without speaking, I showed him the paper.

'What's this?'

'It's---nothing, your honour. I was only....' His voice broke.

'Are you a spy?'

He did not understand me, muttered disconnected words, pressed my knees
in terror....

'Are you a spy?'

'I!' he cried faintly, and shook his head. 'How could I? I never did;
I'm not at all. It's not possible; utterly impossible. I'm
ready--I'll--this minute--I've money to give... I'll pay for it,' he
whispered, and closed his eyes.

The smoking-cap had slipped back on to his neck; his reddish hair was
soaked with cold sweat, and hung in tails; his lips were blue, and
working convulsively; his brows were contracted painfully; his face was
drawn....

Soldiers came up round us. I had at first meant to give Girshel a good
fright, and to tell Siliavka to hold his tongue, but now the affair had
become public, and could not escape 'the cognisance of the authorities.'