that you are adorable? The daughter of my old friend will forgive the compliment, I am sure . . . Come in, come in!” He took her arm, seated her on the sofa in his study, smiled at her with every inch of his frank, military- looking face. None of the city’s noises penetrated here. Various pieces of precision apparatus, under glass bells, occupied the corners of the room. A cluster of green leaves filled the door that gave on the garden. A large portrait in a gold frame appeared to attract Xenia’s attention. The pro- fessor explained: Montessus de Ballore, “Count mademoiselle, the man of genius who deciphered the enigma of earthquakes ...” you too,” said Xenia enthusiastically, have . “But “you . .” I—that was much easier. Once the trail has been “Oh, blazed in scien- tific matters, all one has to do is to follow it ...” Xenia allowed herself to be distracted, because she shrank from her problem. is a magnificent and mysterious science, “Yours is it not?” The professor laughed: if you insist, like all “Magnificent, science. But not mysterious. We are hot on the track of mystery, mademoiselle, and it will not elude us!” The professor opened a file. are “See—here the co-ordi- nates for the Messina earthquake of 1908; no more mystery there. When I demonstrated them before the Tokio Congress . . .” But he saw that Xenia’s lips were trembling. . . . What is “Mademoiselle it? Bad news of your father? . . . Are you in trouble? Tell me . . .” Rublev,” Xenia stammered. “Kiril the historian? . . . The Rublev of the “Rublev, Communist Academy, you mean? I’ve of him, I believe I even met him once ... at a banquet ... a friend of your father, is he not?” Xenia felt ashamed of the tears she was holding back, ashamed of her
that you are adorable? The daughter of my old friend will forgive the compliment, I am sure . . . Come in, come in!” He took her arm, seated her on the sofa in his study, smiled at her with every inch of his frank, military- looking face. None of the city’s noises penetrated here. Various pieces of precision apparatus, under glass bells, occupied the corners of the room. A cluster of green leaves filled the door that gave on the garden. A large portrait in a gold frame appeared to attract Xenia’s attention. The pro- fessor explained: “Count Montessus de Ballore, mademoiselle, the man of genius who deciphered the enigma of earthquakes ...” “But you too,” said Xenia enthusiastically, “you have . . .” “Oh, I—that was much easier. Once the trail has been blazed in scien- tific matters, all one has to do is to follow it ...” Xenia allowed herself to be distracted, because she shrank from her problem. “Yours is a magnificent and mysterious science, is it not?” The professor laughed: “Magnificent, if you insist, like all science. But not mysterious. We are hot on the track of mystery, mademoiselle, and it will not elude us!” The professor opened a file. “See—here are the co-ordi- nates for the Messina earthquake of 1908; no more mystery there. When I demonstrated them before the Tokio Congress . . .” But he saw that Xenia’s lips were trembling. “Mademoiselle . . . What is it? Bad news of your father? . . . Are you in trouble? Tell me . . .” “Kiril Rublev,” Xenia stammered. “Rublev, the historian? . . . The Rublev of the Communist Academy, you mean? I’ve of him, I believe I even met him once ... at a banquet ... a friend of your father, is he not?” Xenia felt ashamed of the tears she was holding back, ashamed of her
The%20Case%20of%20Comrade%20Tulayev%20-%20Victor%20Serge.docx