“You live alone with your father?” he asked calmly and deliberately, somewhat indifferently.
“Yes. Why?” The girl grew wary.
“Nothing... Did your mother die long ago?”
“Been five years now.”
“Must have been ill a long time, eh?”
“No. She was badly shaken when our house burnt down.”
“And father too?”
“Of course. We barely got out...”
“From the fire?”
“From the palanka.”
“The horde?”
“Not at all! The Tatars were afraid of us,” she answered, as if striking with a sabre.
“Who then?”
She said nothing. Squatting, she picked a stalk of bluebells and stole an intent glance at the stranger.
Hryhoriy cowered, realising that the girl was afraid of telling him the whole truth. He reproached himself for his inquisitiveness and sought the quickest way out of this unpleasantness. He had bee
