"You are very late, Nina," said her father to her, crossly, as soon
as she entered the room in which they lived. It was a wide apartment,
having in it now but little furniture--two rickety tables, a few
chairs, an old bureau in which Balatka kept, under lock and key, all
that still belonged to him personally, and a little desk, which was
Nina's own repository.

"Yes, father, I am late; but not very late. I have been with Anton
Trendellsohn."

"And what have you been there for now?"

"Anton Trendellsohn has been talking to me about the papers which uncle
Karil has. He wants to have them himself. He says they are his."

"I suppose he means that we are to be turned out of the old house."

"No, father; he does not mean that. He is not a cruel man. But he says
that--that he cannot settle anything about the property without having
the papers. I suppose that is true."

"He has the rent of the other houses," said Balatka.

"Yes; but if the papers are his, he ought to have them."

"Did he send for them?"

"No, father; he did not send."

"And what made you go?"