"Wherever I go there's that man," he said once to me. "Why doesn't he
go back to his own country?"
"I suppose," I would answer hotly, "he has other things to do than to
consider your individual wishes, Alexei Petrovitch."
Then he would laugh: "Well, well, Ivan Andreievitch, you
sentimentalists all hang together."
"Why can't you leave him alone?" I remember that I continued.
"Because he doesn't leave me alone," he answered shortly.
It was, of course, Marie Ivanovna who brought them together. She could
not see, or rather she _would_ not see, that friendship between two
such men was an impossibility. For herself she liked Trenchard better
than she had ever done. She had now no responsibility towards him; we
were all fond of him, pleased ourselves by saying that "he was more
Russian than English." The Sisters mended his clothes, cared for his
stomach, and listened with pleased gravity to his innocent chatter.
Marie Ivanovna was now really proud of him. There were great stories
of the courage and enterprise he had shown during the night when he
had been with Nikitin.
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