An interminable moment later, she hears something that can’t be described as even a tiny explosion, like the sound of a rag doll falling from a shelf. Clementine leaves the vicinity of the river with long, hurried strides, her expression one of wild-eyed despair. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the notice that caught her attention, the one forbidding demonstrations. Again she sees the gendarme who heard her hushing her pretend child, and again she whispers “sh-sh-sh” as she passes by him steadily; she doesn’t break into a run. A few steps later, she changes her “sh-sh-sh” to a popular tune. She pauses. That good-for-nothing bomb will be the end of me! she thinks, and she picks up her pace.

2. Claudia and Sergei

2. Claudia and Sergei

Claudia enters the dining room with short, quick steps, shaking her skirt with one hand. As she walks, her smiling gaze flits across the room, from a piece of furniture, to an object, to another, playfully, without stopping. She comes to a halt, settles her gaze on Sergei for a few moments, and says:

“What’s all the commotion?”

In this household they breathe happiness; it’s everywhere you look. The dining room, arranged with the same care as the rest of the home, is comfortable and charming. But Sergei is sitting at the table, looking pained. His movements are tense; he’s on tenterhooks. He responds to Claudia’s sweet gaze by nearly jumping out of his chair, catlike, scowling angrily in ill-tempered silence.

“All right, all right,” Claudia says, trying to calm him. “It is what it is, it was what it was; as they say, forget about it.”

She notices a streak of flour on her skirt, tries to brush it off, and says offhandedly:

“We need to leave promptly at seven, on the dot.”

Sergei hasn’t heard a word since she asked him what the commotion was. Why am I so worried? The question echoes in his head. So worried, so worried. He lets this thought repeat three or four times and replies violently, “Claudine, you don’t seem to understand: I’m not upset. Good God! Consider one simple thing: The scandal. The scandal! I won’t be able to bear it. But I can’t say no…. The request comes straight from the tsar’s desk…. I can already see myself in chains on the Solovetsky Islands…. I’d rather have the shackles than the scandal!”

“The Solovetsky Islands! Don’t be ridiculous! We’re not living in the times of Ivan the Terrible.”

“They’re worse than that! I’ll face opprobrium, and … !”

“Sergei, Sergei, calm down, Sergei …”

“Even worse!”

“We’re going to dress formally and leave at 7:10 on the dot, like the English.” She’s changed the time of departure; it doesn’t matter to her, and Sergei, wrapped up in his own world, doesn’t notice.