our habit, in silence. Staring at her fixedly, we did not know what
to say to her, what to ask her; and as we stood before her we formed
a dark, silent crowd. She was evidently surprised at our unusual
reception, and suddenly we noticed that she turned pale, became
restless, began to bustle about and asked in a choking voice:

"Why are you . . . such?

"And you?" asked the baker sternly, without taking his eyes off the
girl.

"What's the matter with me?"

"Nothing. . . ."

"Well, quicker, give me biscuits. . . ."

She had never before hurried us on. . . .

"There's plenty of time!" said the baker, his eyes fixed, on her face.

Then she suddenly turned around and disappeared behind the door.

The baker took up his shovel and said calmly, turning towards the
oven:

"It is done, it seems! . . . The soldier! . . . Rascal! . . .
Scoundrel!" . . .

Like a herd of sheep, pushing one another, we walked back to the