It was the first thing he had said about Kit since the wedding. He fell silent again after that, and Anna did not press him. But that evening at the inn brought something she did not expect.
They had taken a private parlor for supper, and Stepan had gone to eat in the kitchen, where he had already made friends with the ostler by means of gestures and a great deal of laughing. The Duke waited until the servant had cleared the plates. Then he turned his chair a little toward the fire and said, without looking at her:
"I would like you to teach me some of his language."
Anna was so surprised that for a moment she could not answer. "Russian is very hard," she said at last. "Even the letters are different."
"I do not want to make speeches in it. I want to say a few things to that man in his own tongue before he goes home. I want to thank him for bringing my brother's watch across half the world." He did look at her then. "It seems to me a poor return that he should have to hear it through somebody else."
So they began.
Every evening at every inn up the long road north, after supper, they sat at the corner of whatever table the parlor had. She wrote words for him on the backs of old letters: first in the Russian letters, and then in English letters beneath so that he could sound them out. Thank you. Brother. Home. Forgive me. Good night.
The Duke was a terrible pupil. He was far too proud to say a word wrongly, and so he would not say it at all until he was certain. Then he would say it with such grim determination that Anna had to bite the inside of her cheek.
On the fourth evening, when he tried to say "brother" and said something that meant a kind of cabbage soup, she laughed out loud before she could help it.
He looked up. She stopped at once and put her hand over her mouth, because she had never in her life laughed at a gentleman, let alone a duke. But he did not look angry. He looked at her as though she had done something astonishing. The corner of his mouth moved; it was not quite a smile—it was the almost.