The Created Legend | Page 9

feeling," said Kirsha with a pleading voice, "that you must let
them in to us--these inquisitive girls."
Trirodov looked very attentively at his son and smiled. Kirsha said
gravely:
"The elder one is very charming. In some way she is like mother. But
the other is also nice."
"What brings them here?" again asked Trirodov. "They might have
waited until their elders brought them here."
Kirsha smiled, sighed lightly, and said thoughtfully, shrugging his
small shoulders:
"All women are curious. What's to be done with them?"
Smiling now joyously, now gravely, Trirodov asked:

"And will mother not come to us?"
"Oh, if she only came, if only for one little minute!" exclaimed Kirsha.
"What are we to do with these girls?" asked Trirodov.
"Invite them in, show them the house," replied Kirsha.
"And the quiet children?" quietly asked Trirodov.
"The quiet children also like the elder one," answered Kirsha.
"And who are they, these girls?" asked Trirodov.
"They are our neighbours, the Rameyevs," said Kirsha.
Trirodov smiled again and said:
"Yes, one can understand why they are so curious."
He frowned, went to the table, put his hand on one of the dark, heavy
prisms and picked it up cautiously, and again carefully put it back in its
place, saying at the same time to Kirsha:
"Go, then, and meet them and bring them here."
Kirsha, growing animated, asked:
"By the door or through the grotto?"
"Yes, bring them through the dark passage, underground."
Kirsha went out. Trirodov was left alone. He opened the drawer of his
writing-table, took out a strangely shaped flagon of green glass filled
with a dark fluid, and looked in the direction of the secret door. At that
instant it opened quietly and easily. A pale, quiet boy entered and
looked at Trirodov with his dispassionate and innocent, but
understanding eyes.

Trirodov went up to him. A reproach was ripe on his tongue but he
could not say it. Pity and tenderness clung to his lips. Silently he gave
the strange-shaped flagon to the boy. The boy went out quietly.
CHAPTER III
The sisters entered a thicket. The path's many turnings made them
giddy. Suddenly the turrets of the old house vanished from sight.
Everything around them assumed an unfamiliar look.
"We seem to have lost our way," said Elena cheerfully.
"Never fear, we'll find our way out," replied Elisaveta. "We are bound
to get somewhere."
At that instant there came towards them from among the bushes the
small, sunburnt, handsome Kirsha. His dark, closely grown eyebrows
and black wavy hair, unspoiled by headgear, gave him the wild look of
a wood-sprite.
"Dear boy, where do you come from?" asked Elisaveta.
Kirsha eyed the sisters with an attentive, direct, and innocent gaze. He
said:
"I am Kirsha Trirodov. Follow this path, and you'll find yourselves
where you want to go. I'll go ahead of you."
He turned and walked on. The sisters followed him upon the narrow
path between the tall trees. Here and there flowers were visible--small,
white, odorous flowers. They emitted a strange, pungent smell. It made
the sisters feel both gay and languid. Kirsha walked silently before
them.
At the end of the road loomed a mound, overgrown by tangled, ugly
grass. At the foot of the mound was a rusty door which looked as if it
were meant to hide some treasure.

Kirsha felt in his pocket, took out a key, and opened the door. It
creaked unpleasantly and breathed out cold, dampness, and fear. A long
dark passage became discernible. Kirsha pressed a spot near the door.
The dark passage became lit up as though by electric light, but the
lights themselves were not visible.
The sisters entered the grotto. The light poured from everywhere. But
the sources of light remained a mystery. The walls themselves seemed
to radiate. The light fell evenly, and neither bright reflections nor
shadowy places were to be seen.
The sisters went on. Now they were alone. The door closed behind
them with a grating sound. Kirsha ran on ahead. The sisters no longer
saw him. The corridor was sinuous. It was difficult to walk fast for
some unknown reason. A kind of weight seemed to fetter their limbs.
The passage inclined slightly downwards. They walked on like this a
long time. It grew hotter and damper the farther they advanced. There
was an aroma--strange, sad, and exotic. The fragrance increased,
became more and more languorous. It made the head dizzy and the
heart ready to faint with a sweetness not free from pain.
It seemed an incredibly long way. Their legs now moved more slowly.
The stone floor was cruelly hard.
"It's almost impossible to walk," whispered Elisaveta.
Those few moments seemed like ages in that dank, sultry underground.
There seemed to be no end to the