“Oughtn’t-oughtn’t we to secure her?” asked the general of Ptitsin, in a whisper; “or shall we send for the authorities? Why, she’s mad, isn’t she — isn’t she, eh?”
“N-no, I hardly think she is actually mad,” whispered Ptitsin, who was as white as his handkerchief, and trembling like a leaf. He could not take his eyes off the smouldering packet.
“She’s mad surely, isn’t she?” the general appealed to Totski.
“I told you she wasn’t an ordinary woman,” replied the latter, who was as pale as anyone.
“Oh, but, positively, you know — a hundred thousand roubles!”