“At last we are by ourselves and we will admit no one! I want to tell you everything, everything from the very beginning.”
Sofya Matveyevna checked him with great uneasiness.
“Are you aware, Stepan Trofimovitch?…”
“Comment, vous savez déjà mon nom?” He smiled with delight.
“I heard it this morning from Anisim Ivanovitch when you were talking to him. But I venture to tell you for my part …”
And she whispered hurriedly to him, looking nervously at the closed door for fear anyone should overhear—that here in this village, it was dreadful. That though all the peasants were fishermen, they made their living chiefly by charging travellers every summer whatever they thought fit. The village was not on the high road but an out-of-the-way one, and people only called there because the steamers
