Barlasch sat down.
"Voila," he said, and that was all. But by a gesture he described
the end of the world. Then he scowled at her with his available eye
with suspicion, and she turned away suddenly, as one may who has not
a clear conscience.
"What is the matter with your eye?" she asked, in order to break the
silence. He laid aside his hat, and his ragged hair, quite white,
fell to his shoulders. By way of answer, he unknotted the
bloodstained dusky handkerchief, and looked up at her. The hidden
eye was uninjured and as bright as the other.
"Nothing," he answered, and he confirmed the statement by a low-born
wink. More than once he glanced, with a glaring light in his eye,
towards the cupboard where Lisa kept the bread, and quite suddenly
Desiree knew that he was starving. She ran to the cupboard, and
hurriedly set down on the table before him what was there. It was
not much--a piece of cold meat and a whole loaf.
He had taken off his haversack, and was fumbling in it with unsteady
hands. At last he found that which he sought. It was wrapped in a
silk scarf that must have come from Cashmere to Moscow, and from
Moscow in his haversack with pieces of horseflesh and muddy roots to
Dantzig. With that awkwardness in giving and taking which belongs
to his class, he held out to Desiree a little square "ikon" no
bigger than a playing-card. It was of gold, set with diamonds, and
the faces of the Virgin and Child were painted with exquisite
delicacy.
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