Текст книги "The Eternal Husband and Other Stories"

Автор книги: Федор Достоевский

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

The game was hide-and-seek. The person hiding, incidentally, had the right to change his place within the whole area in which he was allowed to hide. Pavel Pavlovich, who had managed to hide by getting himself into a thick bush, suddenly decided to change his place and run into the house. There was shouting, he was seen; he hastily sneaked upstairs, having in mind a little place behind a chest of drawers where he wanted to hide. But the little redhead flew up after him, tiptoed stealthily to the door, and snapped the lock. As before, everyone at once stopped playing and again ran beyond the pond to the other end of the garden. About ten minutes later, Pavel Pavlovich, sensing that no one was looking for him, peeked out the window. No one was there. He did not dare shout lest he awaken the parents; the maid and the serving girl had been given strict orders not to come or respond to Pavel Pavlovich’s call. Katerina Fedoseevna could have opened the door for him, but she, having returned to her room, sat down in reverie and unexpectedly fell asleep herself. He sat like that for about an hour. At last, girls began to appear in twos and threes, passing by as if inadvertently.

“Pavel Pavlovich, why don’t you join us? Ah, it’s such fun there! We’re playing theater. Alexei Ivanovich had the role of the ‘young man.’ ”

“Pavel Pavlovich, why don’t you join us, it’s you one always misses!” other young misses observed, passing by.

“Who is it, again, that one always misses?” suddenly came the voice of Mme. Zakhlebinin, who had just woken up and decided finally to take a stroll in the garden and watch the “children’s” games while waiting for tea.

“It’s Pavel Pavlovich there.” She was shown the window through which peeked, with a distorted smile, pale with anger, the face of Pavel Pavlovich.

“The man would just rather sit there alone, while others are having such fun!” the mother of the family shook her head.

Meanwhile Velchaninov had the honor, finally, of receiving from Nadya an explanation of her words earlier about being “glad he had come owing to a certain circumstance.” The explanation took place in a solitary alley. Marya Nikitishna purposely summoned Velchaninov, who had participated in some of the games and was already beginning to languish greatly, and brought him to this alley, where she left him alone with Nadya.

“I’m perfectly convinced,” she rattled out in a bold and quick patter, “that you are not at all such a friend of Pavel Pavlovich’s as he boasted you were. I calculate that you alone can render me an extremely important service; here is today’s nasty bracelet,” she took the case from her pocket, “I humbly beg you to return it to him immediately, because I myself will not speak to him ever or for anything for the rest of my life. Anyhow, you may tell him so on my behalf and add that henceforth he dare not thrust his presents at me. The rest I’ll let him know through others. Will you kindly give me the pleasure of fulfilling my wish?”

“Ah, no, spare me, for God’s sake!” Velchaninov all but cried out, waving his hands.

“What! Spare me?” Nadya was unbelievably astonished by his refusal and stared wide-eyed at him. All her prepared tone broke down in an instant, and she was nearly in tears. Velchaninov laughed.

“It’s not that I… I’d be very glad… but I’ve got my own accounts with him…”

“I knew you weren’t his friend and that he was lying!” Nadya interrupted him fervently and quickly. “I’ll never marry him, you should know that! Never! I don’t even understand how he dared… Only you must return his vile bracelet to him even so, otherwise what am I to do? I absolutely, absolutely want him to get it back today, the same day—and lump it. And if he peaches to Papa, he’ll be in real trouble.”

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly the ruffled young man in blue spectacles popped from behind a bush.

“You must give him back the bracelet,” he fell upon Velchaninov furiously, “if only in the name of women’s rights, assuming you yourself stand on the level of the question…”

But he had no time to finish; Nadya pulled him by the sleeve with all her might and tore him away from Velchaninov.

“Lord, how stupid you are, Predposylov!” ¹²she cried. “Go away! Go away, go away, and don’t you dare eavesdrop, I told you to stand far off!…” She stamped her little feet at him, and when he had slipped back into his bushes, she still went on pacing back and forth across the path, as if beside herself, flashing her eyes and clasping her hands in front of her.

“You wouldn’t believe how stupid they are!” she suddenly stopped in front of Velchaninov. “To you it’s funny, but how is it for me!”

“But it’s not him, not him?” Velchaninov was laughing.

“Naturally it’s not him, how could you think such a thing!” Nadya smiled and turned red. “He’s only his friend. But what friends he chooses, I don’t understand it, they all say he’s a ‘future mover,’ but I don’t understand a thing… Alexei Ivanovich, I have no one to turn to; your final word, will you give it back or not?”

“Well, all right, I’ll give it back, let me have it.”

“Ah, you’re a dear, ah, you’re so kind!” she suddenly rejoiced, handing him the case. “For that I’ll sing for you the whole evening, because I sing wonderfully, you should know that, and I lied earlier about not liking music. Ah, if only you’d come again, just once, how glad I’d be, I’d tell you everything, everything, everything, and a lot more besides, because you’re so kind, so kind, like—like Katya!”

And indeed, when they went back home for tea, she sang two romances for him in a voice not yet trained at all and only just beginning, but rather pleasant and strong. When they all came back from the garden, Pavel Pavlovich was sitting sedately with the parents at the tea table, on which a big family samovar was already boiling and heirloom Sèvres porcelain teacups were set out. Most likely he and the old folks were discussing very serious things—because in two days he would be leaving for a whole nine months. He did not even glance at those who came in from the garden, least of all at Velchaninov; it was also obvious that he had not “peached” and that so far everything was quiet.

But when Nadya started singing, he, too, appeared at once. Nadya purposely did not answer his one direct question, but Pavel Pavlovich was not embarrassed or shaken by that; he stood at the back of her chair and his whole bearing showed that this was his place and he would yield it to no one.

“Alexei Ivanovich will sing, Maman, Alexei Ivanovich wants to sing!” nearly all the girls cried, crowding around the piano, at which Velchaninov was confidently sitting down, intending to accompany himself. The old folks came out along with Katerina Fedoseevna, who had been sitting with them and pouring tea.

Velchaninov chose a certain romance by Glinka, ¹³which almost no one knows anymore:

When you do ope your merry lips, my love

And coo to me more sweetly than a dove…

He sang it addressing Nadya alone, who stood right at his elbow and closest to him of all. He had long ago lost his voice, but from what remained, one could see that it had once been not bad. Velchaninov had managed to hear this romance for the first time some twenty years before, when he was still a student, from Glinka himself, in the house of one of the late composer’s friends, at a literary-artistic bachelor party. Glinka, carried away, had played and sung all his favorite things from his own works, including this romance. He also had no voice left by then, but Velchaninov remembered the extraordinary impression produced then precisely by this romance. No artistic salon singer could ever have achieved such an effect. In this romance, the intensity of the passion rises and grows with every line, every word; precisely because of this extraordinary intensity, the slightest falseness, the slightest exaggeration or untruth—which one gets away with so easily in opera—would here ruin and distort the whole meaning. To sing this small but remarkable thing, one had absolutely—yes, absolutely—to have a full, genuine inspiration, a genuine passion or its full poetic assimilation. Otherwise the romance would not only fail altogether, but might even appear outrageous and all but something shameless: it would be impossible to show such intensity of passionate feeling without provoking disgust, yet truth and simple-heartednesssaved everything. Velchaninov remembered that he himself once used to succeed with this romance. He had almost assimilated Glinka’s manner of singing; but now, from the very first sound, from the first line, a genuine inspiration blazed up in his soul and trembled in his voice. With every word of the romance, the feeling broke through and bared itself more strongly and boldly, in the last lines cries of passion were heard, and when, turning his flashing eyes to Nadya, he finished singing the last words of the romance:

Now I do gaze more boldly in your eyes

My lips approach, to list I no more rise,

I want to kiss, I want to kiss and kiss,

I want to kiss, to kiss and kiss and kiss!

–Nadya almost started in fright, and even recoiled a little; a blush poured over her cheeks, and at the same moment Velchaninov saw something as if responsive flash in her embarrassed and almost abashed little face. Fascination, and at the same time perplexity, showed on the faces of all the listening girls as well; to everyone it seemed as if impossible and shameful to sing like that, and at the same time all these little faces and eyes burned and shone as if waiting for something more. Among these faces there especially flashed before Velchaninov the face of Katerina Fedoseevna, which had become almost beautiful.

“Some romance!” muttered old Zakhlebinin, slightly taken aback. “But… isn’t it too strong? Pleasant, but strong…”

“Strong…” Mme. Zakhlebinin echoed, but Pavel Pavlovich did not let her finish: he suddenly popped forward and, as if mad, forgetting himself so much that with his own hand he seized Nadya by the hand and drew her away from Velchaninov, he then leaped up to him and stared at him like a lost man, moving his trembling lips.

“For one moment, sir,” he finally managed to utter.

Velchaninov saw clearly that in another moment this gentleman might venture on something ten times more absurd; he quickly took him by the arm and, ignoring the general perplexity, led him out to the balcony and even took several steps with him down to the garden, where it was already almost completely dark.

“Do you understand that you must leave with me right now, this very minute!” Pavel Pavlovich said.

“No, I don’t…”

“Do you remember,” Pavel Pavlovich went on in his frenetic whisper, “do you remember how you demanded once that I tell you everything, everything, openly, sir, ‘the very last word …’—do you remember, sir? Well, the time has come for saying that word… let’s go, sir!”

Velchaninov reflected, glanced once more at Pavel Pavlovich, and agreed to leave.

Their suddenly announced departure upset the parents and made all the girls terribly indignant.

“At least another cup of tea,” Mme. Zakhlebinin moaned plaintively.

“Why did you get so upset?” the old man, in a stern and displeased tone, addressed the grinning and stubbornly silent Pavel Pavlovich.

“Pavel Pavlovich, why are you taking Alexei Ivanovich away?” the girls cooed plaintively, at the same time glancing at him with bitterness. And Nadya looked at him so angrily that he cringed all over, yet—he did not yield.

“But in fact, Pavel Pavlovich—and I thank him for it—has reminded me of an extremely important matter, which I might have let slip,” Velchaninov laughed, shaking hands with the host, bowing to the hostess and to the girls, and, as if especially among them, to Katerina Fedoseevna, which again was noticed by everyone.

“We thank you for coming and will always be glad to see you, all of us,” Zakhlebinin concluded weightily.

“Ah, we’re so glad…” the mother of the family picked up with feeling.

“Come again, Alexei Ivanovich, come again!” many voices were heard from the balcony when he was already sitting in the carriage with Pavel Pavlovich; barely heard was one little voice, softer than all the others, that said: “Come again, dear, dear Alexei Ivanovich!”

“It’s the little redhead!” thought Velchaninov.

XIII

WHOSE SIDE HAS MORE ON IT

He was able to think about the little redhead, and yet vexation and repentance had long been wearying his soul. And during this whole day—spent so amusingly, one would have thought—sorrow had almost never left him. Before singing the romance, he had already not known where to escape from it; maybe that was why he had sung with such feeling.

“And I could stoop so low… break away from everything!” he began to reproach himself, but hastened to interrupt his thoughts. And it seemed so low to lament; it would have been much more pleasant to quickly get angry with someone.

“Mor-ron!” he whispered spitefully, glancing sideways at Pavel Pavlovich, who was silently sitting next to him in the carriage.

Pavel Pavlovich remained obstinately silent, perhaps concentrating and preparing himself. With an impatient gesture he occasionally took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

“He’s sweating!” Velchaninov kept up his spite.

Only once did Pavel Pavlovich advert to the coachman with a question: “Will there be a thunderstorm, or not?”

“Aye, and a good one! There’s bound to be, it was such a sultry day.” Indeed, the sky was darkening, and distant lightning flashed. They entered the city at half past ten.

“I’m going to your place, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich obligingly addressed Velchaninov, not far from his house.

“I understand; but I must warn you that I feel seriously unwell…”

“I won’t stay long, I won’t stay long!”

As they came through the gateway, Pavel Pavlovich ran over for a moment to Mavra at the caretaker’s.

“Why did you go there?” Velchaninov asked sternly when the man caught up with him and they went into his rooms.

“Never mind, sir, just so… the coachman, sir…”

“I won’t let you drink!”

No answer came. Velchaninov lit the candles, and Pavel Pavlovich settled at once into an armchair. Velchaninov frowningly stopped before him.

“I also promised to tell you my ‘last’ word,” he began with an inward, still suppressed, irritation. “Here it is, this word: I consider in good conscience that all matters between us have been mutually ended, so that we even have nothing to talk about; do you hear—nothing; and therefore it might be better if you left now and I locked the door behind you.”

“Let’s square accounts, Alexei Ivanovich!” Pavel Pavlovich said, but with a somehow especially meek look in his eyes.

“Square ac-counts?” Velchaninov was terribly surprised. “That’s a strange phrase to utter! What ‘accounts’ have we got to ‘square’? Hah! Is it that ‘last word’ of yours, which you promised earlier to… reveal to me?”

“The very same, sir.”

“We have no more accounts to square, they were squared long ago!” Velchaninov said proudly.

“Do you really think so, sir?” Pavel Pavlovich said in a soulful voice, somehow strangely joining his hands in front of him, finger to finger, and holding them in front of his chest. Velchaninov did not answer him and started pacing the room. “Liza? Liza?” moaned in his heart.

“But, anyhow, what is it you wanted to square?” he addressed him frowningly, after a rather prolonged silence. The man had followed him around the room with his eyes all the while, holding his joined hands in front of him in the same way.

“Don’t go there anymore, sir,” he almost whispered in a pleading voice, and suddenly got up from the chair.

“What? So it’s only about that?” Velchaninov laughed spitefully. “Though you’ve made me marvel all day today!” he began venomously, but suddenly his whole face changed: “Listen to me,” he said sadly and with profoundly sincere feeling, “I consider that I’ve never stooped so low in anything as I did today—first by agreeing to go with you, and then—by what happened there… It was so pretty, so pathetic… I befouled and demeaned myself by getting involved… and forgetting… Well, never mind!” he suddenly recollected himself. “Listen: you happened to fall on me today when I was irritated and sick… well, no point in justifying myself! I won’t go there anymore, and I assure you that I have absolutely no interest there,” he concluded resolutely.

“Really? Really?” Pavel Pavlovich cried out, not concealing his joyful excitement. Velchaninov glanced at him with scorn and again started pacing the room.

“It seems you’ve decided to be happy at all costs?” he finally could not refrain from observing.

“Yes, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich softly and naively confirmed.

“What is it to me,” thought Velchaninov, “that he’s a buffoon and his malice comes only from stupidity? All the same I can’t help hating him—though he may not deserve it!”

“I’m an ‘eternal husband,’ sir!” Pavel Pavlovich said with a humbly submissive smile at himself. “I’ve long known this little phrase of yours, Alexei Ivanovich, ever since you lived there with us, sir. I memorized many of your words from that year. When you said ‘eternal husband’ here the last time, I realized it, sir.”

Mavra came in with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Forgive me, Alexei Ivanovich, you know I can’t do without it, sir. Don’t regard it as boldness; consider me a stranger and not worthy of you, sir.”

“Yes…” Velchaninov allowed with disgust, “but I assure you that I’m feeling unwell…”

“Quickly, quickly, just one moment now!” Pavel Pavlovich hurried, “only one little glass, because my throat…”

He greedily drank the glass in one gulp and sat down—casting an all but tender glance at Velchaninov. Mavra went out.

“How loathsome!” Velchaninov whispered.

“It’s only the girlfriends, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich suddenly said cheerfully, thoroughly revived.

“How? What? Ah, yes, you’re still at it…”

“Only the girlfriends, sir! And still so young; we’re showing off out of gracefulness, that’s what, sir! It’s even charming. And then—then, you know, I’ll become her slave; she’ll know esteem, society… she’ll get completely reeducated, sir.”

“By the way, I must give him the bracelet!” Velchaninov thought, frowning and feeling for the case in his coat pocket.

“Now you say, sir, that I’ve decided to be happy? I must get married, Alexei Ivanovich,” Pavel Pavlovich went on confidentially and almost touchingly, “otherwise what will become of me? You can see for yourself, sir!” he pointed to the bottle.

“And this is only a hundredth part—of my qualities, sir. I’m quite unable to do without being married and—without new faith, sir. I’ll believe and resurrect.”

“But why are you telling all this to me?” Velchaninov almost snorted with laughter. Anyhow, it all seemed wild to him.

“But tell me, finally,” he cried out, “why did you drag me there? What did you need me there for?”

“As a test, sir…” Pavel Pavlovich somehow suddenly became embarrassed.

“A test of what?”

“Of the effect, sir… You see, Alexei Ivanovich, it’s only a week that I… that I’ve been seeking there, sir” (he was growing more and more abashed). “Yesterday I met you and thought: ‘I’ve never seen her in, so to speak, a stranger’s, that is, a man’s company, sir, apart from my own …’ A foolish thought, sir, I feel it myself now, an unnecessary one, sir, I just wanted it so much, sir, on account of my nasty character…” He suddenly raised his head and blushed.

“Can he be telling the whole truth?” Velchaninov thought, amazed to the point of stupefaction.

“Well, and what then?”

Pavel Pavlovich smiled sweetly and somehow slyly.

“Nothing but lovely childishness, sir! It’s all the girlfriends, sir! Only forgive me for my stupid behavior toward you today, Alexei Ivanovich; I’ll never do it again, sir; and this thing won’t ever happen again.”

“And I won’t be there anyway,” Velchaninov smirked.

“That’s partly what I’m referring to, sir.”

Velchaninov winced slightly.

“However, I’m not the only one in the world,” he observed vexedly.

Pavel Pavlovich blushed again.

“It makes me sad to hear that, Alexei Ivanovich, and, believe me, I respect Nadezhda Fedoseevna so much…”

“Excuse me, excuse me, I didn’t mean anything—it’s only a bit strange to me that you overestimated my means so much… and… were relying on me so sincerely…”

“I relied on you, sir, precisely because it was after everything… that had already been, sir.”

“Meaning that you still regard me, in that case, as a most noble man?” Velchaninov suddenly stopped. At another moment he himself would have been horrified at the naivete of his sudden question.

“And I always did, sir.” Pavel Pavlovich lowered his eyes.

“Well, yes, naturally… I don’t mean that—that is, not in that sense—I only wanted to say that despite any… prejudice…”

“Yes, sir, and despite any prejudice.”

“And when you were coming to Petersburg?” Velchaninov could no longer restrain himself, feeling all the monstrousness of his curiosity.

“And when I was coming to Petersburg, I considered you the most noble of men, sir. I’ve always respected you, Alexei Ivanovich.” Pavel Pavlovich raised his eyes and clearly, now without any embarrassment, looked at his adversary. Velchaninov suddenly turned coward: he decidedly did not want anything to happen or anything to go over the line, the more so as he himself had provoked it.

“I loved you, Alexei Ivanovich,” Pavel Pavlovich said as if suddenly making up his mind, “And I loved you, sir, all that year in T–. You didn’t notice it, sir,” he went on in a slightly quavering voice, to Velchaninov’s decided horror, “I stood too small compared with you in order for you to notice. And perhaps it wasn’t necessary, sir. And for all these nine years I’ve remembered you, sir, because never in my life have I known such a year as that.” (Pavel Pavlovich’s eyes glistened somehow peculiarly.) “I remembered many of your words and utterances, sir, of your thoughts, sir. I always remembered you as an educated man, sir, ardent for good feelings, highly educated, and with thoughts. ‘Great thoughts come not so much from great intelligence as from great feeling, sir’—you yourself said that, and perhaps forgot it, but I remembered it, sir. I always counted on you, that is, as on a man of great feeling… that is, I believed, sir—despite all, sir…” His chin suddenly trembled. Velchaninov was completely frightened; this unexpected tone had to be stopped at all costs.

“Enough, please, Pavel Pavlovich,” he muttered, blushing and in irritated impatience. “And why, why,” he suddenly cried out, “why do you fasten yourself on to a sick, irritated, all but delirious man, and drag him into this darkness… when—it’s all a phantom and a mirage, and a lie, and shame, and unnaturalness, and—excessive—and that’s the main, the most shameful thing, that it’s excessive! And it’s all rubbish: we’re two depraved, underground, vile people… And if you like, if you like, I’ll prove to you right now that you not only do not love me, but that you hate me with all your strength and are lying without knowing it yourself: you took me and drove me there not at all for the ridiculous purpose of testing your fiancée (what a thing to come up with!)—you simply saw me yesterday and got angryand took me there to show her to me and say: ‘See her! She’s going to be mine; go on and try something now!’ You challenged me! Maybe you didn’t know it yourself, but it was so, because you did feel all that… And without hatred one can’t make such a challenge; and that means you hated me!” He was rushing up and down the room as he shouted this out, and most of all he was tormented and offended by the humiliating awareness that he was condescending so much to Pavel Pavlovich.

“I wished to make peace with you, Alexei Ivanovich!” the other suddenly pronounced resolutely, in a quick whisper, and his chin began to twitch again. Fierce rage took possession of Velchaninov, as if no one had ever given him such offense before!

“I tell you once again,” he screamed, “that you are… clinging to a sick and irritated man in order to tear from him, in his delirium, some phantasmal word! We… but we’re people from different worlds, understand that, and… and… a grave lies between us!” he whispered frenziedly—and suddenly recovered himself.

“And how do you know,” Pavel Pavlovich’s face suddenly became distorted and pale, “how do you know what that little grave means here… inside me, sir!” he cried out, stepping up to Velchaninov and, with a ridiculous but terrible gesture, striking himself on the heart with his fist. “I know that little grave here, sir, and we two stand on the sides of that grave, only my side has more on it than yours, more, sir…” he was whispering as if in delirium, while continuing to hit himself on the heart, “more, sir—more, sir…” Suddenly an extraordinary stroke of the doorbell brought them both to their senses. The ring was so strong that it seemed as if someone had vowed to tear the bell off with the first stroke.

“No one rings like that for me,” Velchaninov said in bewilderment.

“But it’s not for me either, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich whispered timidly, having also come to his senses and instantly turned back into the former Pavel Pavlovich. Velchaninov frowned and went to open the door.

“Mr. Velchaninov, if I am not mistaken?” a young, ringing, remarkably self-confident voice was heard in the hall.

“What is it?”

“I have precise information,” the ringing voice went on, “that a certain Trusotsky is presently with you. I absolutely must see him at once.” It would, of course, have been very agreeable to Velchaninov to send this self-confident gentleman down the stairs at once with a good kick. But he reflected, stepped aside, and let him pass.

“Here is Mr. Trusotsky. Come in…”

XIV

SASHENKA AND NADENKA

Into the room came a very young man, of about nineteen, perhaps even somewhat less—so youthful seemed his handsome, confidently upturned face. He was not badly dressed, at least everything sat well on him; he was above medium height; thick black hair broken into locks, and big, bold dark eyes especially marked his physiognomy. Only his nose was a little too broad and upturned; had it not been for that, he would have been an altogether handsome fellow. He entered imposingly.

“I believe I have the—occasion—of speaking with Mr. Trusotsky?” he said measuredly, emphasizing the word “occasion” with particular pleasure, thereby letting it be known that there could be neither honor nor pleasure for him in talking with Mr. Trusotsky.

Velchaninov was beginning to understand; it seemed that Pavel Pavlovich, too, was already seeing some light. His face expressed uneasiness; however, he stood up for himself.

“Not having the honor of knowing you,” he answered with a dignified air, “I suppose that I cannot have any business with you, sir.”

“First you will hear me out, and then express your opinion,” the young man said confidently and didactically, and, taking out a tortoiseshell lorgnette which he had hanging on a string, he began scrutinizing through it the bottle of champagne standing on the table. Having calmly finished his examination of the bottle, he folded the lorgnette and, again addressing Pavel Pavlovich, said:

“Alexander Lobov.”

“And what is this Alexander Lobov, sir?”

“I am he. Haven’t you heard?”

“No, sir.”

“Anyway, how could you know. I’ve come with an important matter, which in fact concerns you; allow me to sit down, however, I’m tired…”

“Sit down,” Velchaninov invited—but the young man had managed to sit down before he was invited. Despite a growing pain in his chest, Velchaninov was intrigued by this impudent boy. In his pretty, childish, and ruddy face he glimpsed some distant resemblance to Nadya.

“You sit down, too,” the youth offered to Pavel Pavlovich, indicating the place opposite him with a casual nod.

“Never mind, sir, I’ll stand.”

“You’ll get tired. I suppose, Mr. Velchaninov, that you may not have to go.”

“I have nowhere to go. I live here.”

“As you will. I confess, I even wish you to be present at my talk with this gentleman. Nadezhda Fedoseevna has recommended you to me quite flatteringly.”

“Hah! When did she have time?”

“Just after you left. I’m coming from there, too. The thing is this, Mr. Trusotsky,” he turned to the standing Pavel Pavlovich, “we, that is, Nadezhda Fedoseevna and I,” he spoke through his teeth, sprawling casually in the armchair, “have long been in love and have pledged ourselves to each other. You are now a hindrance between us; I’ve come to suggest that you vacate that place. Will you be pleased to accept my suggestion?”

Pavel Pavlovich even swayed; he turned pale, but a sarcastic smile at once forced itself to his lips.

“No, sir, not at all pleased,” he snapped laconically.

“Well, now!” the youth turned in the armchair and crossed one leg over the other.

“I don’t even know with whom I am speaking, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich added, “I even think there is no reason for us to continue.”

Having spoken that out, he, too, found it necessary to sit down.

“I told you you’d get tired,” the youth observed casually. “I just had occasion to inform you that my name is Lobov and that Nadezhda Fedoseevna and I have pledged ourselves to each other—consequently, you can’t say, as you just did, that you don’t know whom you are dealing with; nor can you think that we have nothing to continue talking about; not to mention me—the matter concerns Nadezhda Fedoseevna, whom you are so insolently pestering. And that alone already constitutes a sufficient reason for explanations.”

All this he said through his teeth, like a fop, even barely deigning to articulate the words; he even took out the lorgnette again and, while speaking, directed it at something for a moment.

“Excuse me, young man…” Pavel Pavlovich exclaimed vexedly, but the “young man” at once checked him.

“At any other time I would, of course, forbid you to call me ‘young man,’ but now, you must agree, my youth is my chief advantage over you, and you might have wished very much—today, for instance, as you were presenting the bracelet—that you were at least a little bit younger.”