AT THE ZAHLEBININS’

The Zahlebinins were really a “very decent family,” as Velchaninov had expressed it, and Zahlebinin himself had an assured position in a government o!ce and was well thought of by his superiors. All that Pavel Pavlovitch had said about their income was true too: “They live very comfortably, but if he dies there’ll be nothing left.”

Old Zahlebinin gave Velchaninov a warm and affable welcome, and his former “foe” seemed quite like a friend.

“I congratulate you, it was better so,” he began at the first word, with a pleasant and dignified air. “I was in favour of settling it out of court myself and Pyotr Karlovitch (Velchaninov’s lawyer) is priceless in such cases. Well, you get sixty thousand without any bother, without delay and dispute! And the case might have dragged on for three years!”

Velchaninov was at once presented to Madame Zahlebinin, an elderly lady of redundant figure, with a very simple and tired-looking face. The young ladies, too, began to sail in one after the other or in couples. But a very great many young ladies made their appearance; by degrees they gathered to the number of ten or twelve— Velchaninov lost count of them; some came in, others went out. But among them several were girlfriends from the neighbouring villas. The Zahlebinins’ villa, a large wooden house, built in quaint and whimsical style, with parts added at different periods, had the advantage of a big garden; but three or four other villas looked into the garden on different sides, and it was common property, an arrangement which naturally led to friendly relations among the girls of the different households. From the first words of conversation Velchaninov observed that he was expected, and that his arrival in the character of a friend of Pavel Pavlovitch, anxious to make their acquaintance, was hailed almost triumphantly.

His keen and experienced eye quickly detected something special; from the over- cordial welcome of the parents, from a certain peculiar look about the girls and their get-up (though, indeed, it was a holiday), from all that, the suspicion dawned upon him that Pavel Pavlovitch had been scheming and, very possibly, without, of course, saying it in so many words, had been suggesting a conception of him as a bachelor of property and of the “best society,” who was suffering from ennui and very, very likely to make up his mind to “change his state and settle down,” especially as he had just come into a fortune. The manner and the appearance of the eldest Mademoiselle Zahlebinin, Katerina Fedosyevna, the one who was twenty-four and who had been described by Pavel Pavlovitch as a charming person, struck him as being in keeping with that idea. She was distinguished from her sisters by her dress and the original way in which her luxuriant hair was done. Her sisters and the other girls all looked as though they were firmly convinced that Velchaninov was making their acquaintance “on Katya’s account” and had come “to have a look at her.” Their glances and even some words, dropped in the course of the day, confirmed him in this surmise. Katerina Fedosyevna was a tall blonde of generous proportions, with an exceedingly sweet face, of a gentle,

unenterprising, even torpid character. “Strange that a girl like that should still be on hand,” Velchaninov could not help thinking, watching her with pleasure. “Of course, she has no dowry and she’ll soon grow too fat, but meantime lots of men would admire her.…” All the other sisters, too, were nice-looking, and among their friends there were several amusing and even pretty faces. It began to divert him; he had come, moreover, with special ideas.

Nadyezhda Fedosyevna, the sixth, the schoolgirl and Pavel Pavlovitch’s bride-elect, did not appear till later. Velchaninov awaited her coming with an impatience which surprised him and made him laugh at himself. At last she made her entrance, and not without effect, accompanied by a lively, keen-witted girlfriend, a brunette with a comical face whose name was Marie Nikititchna, and of whom, as was at once apparent, Pavel Pavlovitch stood in great dread. This Marie Nikititchna, a girl of twenty-three, with a mocking tongue and really clever, was a nursery governess in a friend’s family. She had long been accepted by the Zahlebinins as one of themselves and was thought a great deal of by the girls. It was evident that Nadya found her indispensable now. Velchaninov discerned at once that all the girls were antagonistic to Pavel Pavlovitch, even the friends, and two minutes after Nadya’s arrival he had made up his mind that she detested him. He observed, too, that Pavel Pavlovitch either failed to notice this or refused to.

Nadya was unquestionably the handsomest of the lot—a little brunette with a wild, untamed look and the boldness of a nihilist; a roguish imp with blazing eyes, with a charming but often malicious smile, with wonderful lips and teeth, slender and graceful, her face still childlike but glowing with the dawn of thought. Her age was evident in every step she took, in every word she uttered. It appeared afterwards that Pavel Pavlovitch did see her for the first time with an American leather satchel on her arm, but this time she had not got it.

The presentation of the bracelet was a complete failure, and, indeed, made an unpleasant impression. As soon as Pavel Pavlovitch saw his “future bride” come into the room he went up to her with a smirk. He presented it as a testimony “of the agreeable gratification he had experienced on his previous visit on the occasion of the charming song sung by Nadyezhda Fedosyevna at the piano.…” He stammered, could not finish, and stood helpless, holding out the case with the bracelet and thrusting it into the hand of Nadyezhda Fedosyevna, who did not want to take it, and, crimson with shame and anger, drew back her hands. She turned rudely to her mother, whose face betrayed embarassment, and said aloud:

“I don’t want to take it, maman!”

“Take it and say thank you,” said her father, with calm severity: but he, too, was displeased. “Unnecessary, quite unnecessary!” he muttered reprovingly to Pavel Pavlovitch.

Nadya, seeing there was no help for it, took the case and, dropping her eyes, curtsied, as tiny children curtsey—that is, suddenly bobbed down, and popped up again as though on springs. One of her sisters went up to look at it and Nadya handed her the

case unopened, showing, for her part, that she did not care to look at it. The bracelet was taken out and passed from one to the other; but they all looked at it in silence, and some even sarcastically. Only the mother murmured that the bracelet was very charming. Pavel Pavlovitch was ready to sink into the earth.

Velchaninov came to the rescue.

He began talking, loudly and eagerly, about the first thing that occurred to him, and before five minutes were over he had gained the attention of every one in the drawing- room. He was a brilliant master of the art of small talk—that is, the art of seeming perfectly frank and at the same time appearing to consider his listeners as frank as himself. He could, with perfect naturalness, appear when necessary to be the most light- hearted and happy of men. He was very clever, too, in slipping in a witty remark, a jibe, a gay insinuation or an amusing pun, always as it were accidentally and as though unconscious of doing it—though the epigram or pun and the whole conversation, perhaps, had been prepared and rehearsed long, long before and even used on more than one previous occasion. But at the present moment nature and art were at one, he felt that he was in the mood and that something was drawing him on; he felt the most absolute confidence in himself and knew that in a few minutes all these eyes would be turned upon him, all these people would be listening only to him, talking to no one but him, and laughing only at what he said. And, in fact, the laughter soon came, by degrees the others joined in the conversation—and he was exceedingly clever in making other people talk—three or four voices could be heard at once. The bored and weary face of Madame Zahlebinin was lighted up almost with joy; it was the same with Katerina Fedosyevna, who gazed and listened as though enchanted. Nadya watched him keenly from under her brows; it was evident that she was prejudiced against him. This spurred him on the more. The “mischievous” Marie Nikititchna succeeded in getting in rather a good thrust at him; she asserted quite fictitiously that Pavel Pavlovitch had introduced him as the friend of his boyhood, so putting with obvious intent at least seven years on to his age. But even the malicious Marie Nikititchna liked him. Pavel Pavlovitch was completely nonplussed. He had, of course, some idea of his friend’s abilities and at first was delighted at his success; he tittered himself and joined in the conversation; but by degrees he seemed to sink into thoughtfulness, and finally into positive dejection, which was clearly apparent in his troubled countenance.

“Well, you’re a visitor who doesn’t need entertaining,” old Zahlebinin commented gaily, as he got up to go upstairs to his own room, where, in spite of the holiday, he had some business papers awaiting his revision; “and, only fancy, I thought of you as the most gloomy, hypochondriacal of young men. What mistakes one makes!”

They had a piano; Velchaninov asked who played, and suddenly turned to Nadya: “I believe you sing?”

“Who told you?” Nadya snapped out. “Pavel Pavlovitch told me just now.”

“It’s not true. I only sing for fun. I’ve no voice.” “And I’ve no voice either, but I sing.”

“Then you’ll sing to us? Well, then, I’ll sing to you,” said Nadya, her eyes gleaming; “only not now, but after dinner. I can’t endure music,” she added. “I’m sick of the piano: they’re all singing and playing from morning to night here—Katya’s the only one worth hearing.”

Velchaninov at once took this up, and it appeared that Katerina Fedosyevna was the only one who played the piano seriously. He at once begged her to play. Every one was evidently pleased at his addressing Katya, and the mamma positively flushed crimson with gratification, Katerina Fedosyevna got up, smiling, and went to the piano, and suddenly, to her own surprise, she flushed crimson and was horribly abashed that she, such a big girl, four-and-twenty and so stout, should be blushing like a child—and all this was written clearly on her face as she sat down to play. She played something from Haydn and played it carefully though without expression, but she was shy. When she had finished Velchaninov began warmly praising to her, not her playing but Haydn, and especially the little thing which she had played, and she was evidently so pleased and listened so gratefully and happily to his praises, not of herself but of Haydn, that he could not help looking at her with more friendliness and attention: “Ah, but you are a dear!” was reflected in the gleam of his eye—and every one seemed instantly to understand that look, especially Katerina Fedosyevna herself.

“You have a delightful garden,” he said, suddenly addressing the company and looking towards the glass door that led on to the balcony. “What do you say to our all going into the garden?”

“Let us, let us!” they shrieked joyfully, as though he had guessed the general wish.

They walked in the garden till dinner-time. Madame Zahlebinin, though she had been longing to have a nap, could not resist going out with them, but wisely sat down to rest on the verandah, where she at once began to doze. In the garden Velchaninov and the girls got on to still more friendly terms. He noticed that several very young men from the villas joined them; one was a student and another simply a high school boy. They promptly made a dash each for his girl, and it was evident that they had come on their account; the third, a very morose and dishevelled-looking youth of twenty, in huge blue spectacles, began, with a frown, whispering hurriedly with Marie Nikititchna and Nadya. He scanned Velchaninov sternly, and seemed to consider it incumbent upon himself to treat him with extraordinary contempt. Some of the girls suggested that they should play games. To Velchaninov’s question, what games they played, they said all sorts of games, and catch-catch, but in the evening they would play proverbs—that is, all would sit down and one would go out, the others choose a proverb—for instance: “More haste, less speed,” and when the one outside is called in, each in turn has to say one sentence to him. One, for instance, must say a sentence in which there is the word “more,” the second, one in which there is the word “haste,” and so on. And from their sentences he must guess the proverb.

“That must be very amusing,” said Velchaninov.

“Oh, no, it’s awfully boring,” cried two or three voices at once.

“Or else we play at acting,” Nadya observed, suddenly addressing him. “Do you see

that thick tree, round which there’s a seat: behind that tree is behind the scenes, and there the actors sit, say a king, a queen, a princess, a young man—just as any one likes; each one enters when he chooses and says anything that comes into his head, and that’s the game.”

“But that’s delightful!” Velchaninov repeated again.

“Oh, no, it’s awfully dull! At first it did turn out amusing, but lately it’s always been senseless, for no one knows how to end it; perhaps with you, though, it will be more interesting. We did think you were a friend of Pavel Pavlovitch’s, though, but it seems he was only bragging. I’m very glad you have come … for one thing.…”

She looked very earnestly and impressively at Velchaninov and at once walked away to Marie Nikititchna.

“We’re going to play proverbs this evening,” one of the girlfriends whom Velchaninov had scarcely noticed before, and with whom he had not exchanged a word, whispered to him confidentially. “They’re all going to make fun of Pavel Pavlovitch, and you will too, of course.”

“Ah, how nice it is that you’ve come, we were all so dull,” observed another girl in a friendly way. She was a red-haired girl with freckles, and a face absurdly flushed from walking and the heat. Goodness knows where she had sprung from; Velchaninov had not noticed her till then.

Pavel Pavlovitch’s uneasiness grew more and more marked. In the garden Velchaninov made great friends with Nadya. She no longer looked at him from under her brows as she had at first; she seemed to have laid aside her critical attitude towards him, and laughed, skipped about, shrieked, and twice even seized him by the hand; she was extremely happy, she continued to take not the slightest notice of Pavel Pavlovitch, and behaved as though she were not aware of his existence. Velchaninov felt certain that there was an actual plot against Pavel Pavlovitch; Nadya and the crowd of girls drew Velchaninov aside, while some of the other girlfriends lured Pavel Pavlovitch on various pretexts in another direction; but the latter broke away from them, and ran full speed straight to them—that is, to Velchaninov and Nadya, and suddenly thrust his bald head in between them with uneasy curiosity. He hardly attempted to restrain himself; the naïveté of his gestures and actions were sometimes amazing. He could not resist trying once more to turn Velchaninov’s attention to Katerina Fedosyevna; it was clear to her now that he had not come on her account, but was much more interested in Nadya; but her expression was just as sweet and good-humoured as ever. She seemed to be happy simply at being beside them and listening to what their new visitor was saying: she, poor thing, could never keep up her share in a conversation cleverly.

“What a darling your sister Katerina Fedosyevna is!” Velchaninov said aside to Nadya.

“Katya! No one could have a kinder heart than she has. She’s an angel to all of us. I adore her,” the girl responded enthusiastically.

At last dinner came at five o’clock; and it was evident that the dinner, too, was not an ordinary meal, but had been prepared expressly for visitors. There were two or three

very elaborate dishes, which evidently were not part of their ordinary fare, one of them so strange that no one could find a name for it. In addition to the everyday wine there was a bottle of Tokay, obviously for the benefit of the visitors; at the end of dinner champagne was brought in for some reason. Old Zahlebinin took an extra glass, became extraordinarily good-humoured and ready to laugh at anything Velchaninov said.

In the end Pavel Pavlovitch could not restrain himself. Carried away by the spirit of rivalry he suddenly attempted to make a pun too; at the end of the table, where he was sitting by Madame Zahlebinin, there was a sudden roar of loud laughter from the delighted girls.

“Papa, Papa! Pavel Pavlovitch has made a pun too,” the fourth and fifth Zahlebinin girls shouted in unison. “He says we’re ‘damsels who dazzle all.…’ ”

“Ah, so he’s punning too! Well, what was his pun?” the old man responded sedately, turning patronizingly to Pavel Pavlovitch and smiling in readiness for the expected pun.

“Why, he says we’re ‘damsels who dazzle all.’ ”

“Y-yes, well, and what then?” The old man did not understand and smiled more good- humouredly in expectation.

“Oh, Papa, how tiresome you are; you don’t understand. Why, ‘damsels’ and then ‘dazzle’; ‘damsel’ is like ‘dazzle,’ “damsels who dazzle all.…”

“A-a-ah,” the old man drawled in a puzzled voice. “H’m, well, he’ll make a better one next time!”

And the old man laughed good-humouredly.

“Pavel Pavlovitch, you can’t have all the perfections at once,” Marie Nikititchna jerked aloud. “Oh, my goodness! He’s got a bone in his throat,” she exclaimed, jumping up from her chair.

There was a positive hubbub, but that was just what Marie Nikititchna wanted. Pavel Pavlovitch had simply choked over the wine which he was sipping to cover his confusion, but Marie Nikititchna vowed and declared that it was a “fish bone,” that she had seen it herself and that people sometimes died of it.

“Slap him on the nape of the neck,” someone shouted.

“Yes, really that’s the best thing to do!” the old man approved aloud.

Eager volunteers were already at him; Marie Nikititchna and the red-haired girl (who had also been invited to dinner), and, finally, the mamma herself, greatly alarmed; every one wanted to slap Pavel Pavlovitch on the back. Jumping up from the table, Pavel Pavlovitch wriggled away and was for a full minute asseverating that he had swallowed his wine too quickly and that the cough would soon be over, while the others realized that it was all a trick of Marie Nikititchna’s.

“But, really, you tease …!” Madame Zahlebinin tried to say sternly to Marie Nikititchna: but she broke down and laughed as she very rarely did, and that made quite a sensation of a sort.

After dinner they all went out on the verandah to drink coffee.

“And what lovely days we’re having!” said the old man, looking with pleasure into the garden, and serenely admiring the beauties of nature. “If only we could have some

rain. Enjoy yourselves and God bless you! And you enjoy yourself too,” he added, patting Pavel Pavlovitch on the shoulder as he went out.

When they had all gone out into the garden again, Pavel Pavlovitch suddenly ran up to Velchaninov and pulled him by the sleeve.

“Just one minute,” he whispered impatiently. They turned into a lonely side path.

“No, in this case, excuse me, no, I won’t give up.…” he stuttered in a furious whisper, clutching Velchaninov’s arm.

“What? What?” Velchaninov asked, opening his eyes in amazement.

Pavel Pavlovitch stared at him mutely, his lips moved, and he smiled furiously. “Where are you going? Where are you? Everything’s ready,” they heard the ringing,

impatient voices of the girls.

Velchaninov shrugged his shoulders and returned to the rest of the party. Pavel Pavlovitch, too, ran after him.

“I’ll bet he asked you for a handkerchief,” said Marie Nikititchna; “he forgot one last time too.”

“He’ll always forget it!” the fifth Zahlebinin girl put in.

“He’s forgotten his handkerchief, Pavel Pavlovitch has forgotten his handkerchief, Mamma, Pavel Pavlovitch has forgotten his pocket-handkerchief, Mamma, Pavel Pavlovitch has a cold in his head again!” cried voices.

“Then why doesn’t he say so! You do stand on ceremony, Pavel Pavlovitch!” Madame Zahlebinin drawled in a sing-song voice. “It’s dangerous to trifle with a cold; I’ll send you a handkerchief directly. And why has he always got a cold in his head?” she added, as she moved away, glad of an excuse for returning home.

“I have two pocket-handkerchiefs and I haven’t a cold in my head!” Pavel Pavlovitch called after her, but the lady apparently did not grasp what he said, and a minute later, when Pavel Pavlovitch was ambling after the others, keeping near Velchaninov and Nadya, a breathless maidservant overtook him and brought him a handkerchief.

“Proverbs, a game of proverbs,” the girls shouted on all sides, as though they expected something wonderful from “a game of proverbs.”

They fixed on a place and sat down on a seat; it fell to Marie Nikititchna’s lot to guess; they insisted that she should go as far away as possible and not listen; in her absence they chose a proverb and distributed the words.

Marie Nikititchna returned and guessed the proverb at once. The proverb was: “It’s no use meeting troubles half-way.”

Marie Nikititchna was followed by the young man with dishevelled hair and blue spectacles. They insisted on even greater precautions with him—he had to stand in the arbour and keep his face to the fence. The gloomy young man did what was required of him contemptuously, and seemed to feel morally degraded by it. When he was called he could guess nothing, he went the round of all of them and listened to what they said twice over, spent a long time in gloomy meditation, but nothing came of it. They put him to shame. The proverb was: “To pray to God and serve the Czar ne’er fail of their

reward.”

“And the proverb’s disgusting!” the exasperated young man exclaimed indignantly, as he retreated to his place.

“Oh, how dull it is!” cried voices.

Velchaninov went out; he was hidden even further off; he, too, failed to guess. “Oh, how dull it is!” more voices cried.

“Well, now, I’ll go out,” said Nadya.

“No, no, let Pavel Pavlovitch go out now, it’s Pavel Pavlovitch’s turn,” they all shouted, growing more animated.

Pavel Pavlovitch was led away, right up to the fence in the very corner, and made to stand facing it, and that he might not look round, the red-haired girl was sent to keep watch on him. Pavel Pavlovitch, who had regained his confidence and almost his cheerfulness, was determinded to do his duty properly and stood stock-still, gazing at the fence and not daring to turn round. The red-haired girl stood on guard twenty paces behind him nearer to the party in the arbour, and she exchanged signals with the girls in some excitement; it was evident that all were expecting something with trepidation; something was on foot. Suddenly the red-haired girl waved her arms as a signal to the arbour. Instantly they all jumped up and ran off at breakneck speed.

“Run, you run, too,” a dozen voices whispered to Velchaninov, almost with horror at his not running.

“What’s the matter? What has happened?” he asked, hurrying after them.

“Hush, don’t shout! Let him stand there staring at the fence while we all run away.

See, Nastya is running.”

The red-haired girl (Nastya) was running at breakneck speed, waving her hands as though something extraordinary had happened. They all ran at last to the other side of the pond, the very opposite corner of the garden. When Velchaninov had got there he saw that Katerina Fedosyevna was hotly disputing with the others, especially with Nadya and Marie Nikititchna.

“Katya, darling, don’t be angry!” said Nadya, kissing her.

“Very well, I won’t tell Mamma, but I shall go away myself, for it’s very horrid. What must he be feeling at the fence there, poor man!”

She went away—from pity—but all the others were merciless and as ruthless as before. They all insisted sternly that when Pavel Pavlovitch came back, Velchaninov should take no notice of him, as though nothing had happened.

“And let us all play catch-catch!” cried the red-haired girl ecstatically.

It was at least a quarter of an hour before Pavel Pavlovitch rejoined the party. For two-thirds of that time he had certainly been standing at the fence. The game was in full swing, and was a great success—everybody was shouting and merry. Frantic with rage, Pavel Pavlovitch went straight up to Velchaninov and pulled at his sleeve again.

“Just half a minute!”

“Good gracious, what does he want with his half-minutes!”

“He’s borrowing a handkerchief again,” was shouted after him once more.

“Well, this time it was you; now it’s all your doing.…” Pavel Pavlovitch’s teeth chattered as he said this.

Velchaninov interrupted him, and mildly advised him to be livelier, or they would go on teasing him. “They tease you because you are cross when all the rest are enjoying themselves.” To his surprise, these words of advice made a great impression on Pavel Pavlovitch; he subsided at once—so much so, in fact, that he went back to the party with a penitent air and submissively took his place in the game; after which they left him alone and treated him like the rest—and before half an hour had passed he had almost regained his spirits. In all the games when he had to choose a partner he picked out by preference the red-haired traitress, or one of the Zahlebinin sisters. But to his still greater surprise Velchaninov noticed that Pavel Pavlovitch did not dare try to speak to Nadya, although he continually hovered about her. At any rate he accepted his position, as an object of scorn and neglect to her, as though it were a fitting and natural thing. But towards the end they played a prank upon him again.

The game was “hide-and-seek.” The one who hid, however, was allowed to run anywhere in the part of the garden allotted him. Pavel Pavlovitch, who had succeeded in concealing himself completely in some thick bushes, conceived the idea of running out and making a bolt for the house. He was seen and shouts were raised; he crept hurriedly upstairs to the first floor, knowing of a place behind a chest of drawers where he could hide. But the red-haired girl flew up after him, crept on tiptoe to the door and turned the key on him. All left off playing and ran just as they had done before to the other side of the pond, at the further end of the garden. Ten minutes later, Pavel Pavlovitch, becoming aware that no one was looking for him, peeped out of the window. There was no one to be seen. He did not dare to call out for fear of waking the parents; the maids had been sternly forbidden to answer Pavel Pavlovitch’s call or go to him. Katerina Fedosyevna might have unlocked him, but, returning to her room and sitting down to dream a little, she had unexpectedly fallen asleep too. And so he stayed there about an hour. At last the girls came, as it were by chance, in twos and threes.

“Pavel Pavlovitch, why don’t you come out to us? Oh, it has been fun! We’ve been playing at acting. Alexey Ivanovitch has been acting ‘a young man.’ ”

“Pavel Pavlovitch, why don’t you come, we want to admire you!” others observed as they passed.

“Admire what now?” they suddenly heard the voice of Madame Zahlebinin, who had only just woken up and made up her mind to come out into the garden and watch the “children’s” games while waiting for tea.

“But here’s Pavel Pavlovitch,” they told her, pointing to the window where Pavel Pavlovitch’s face, pale with anger, looked out with a wry smile.

“It’s an odd fancy for a man to sit alone, when you’re all enjoying yourselves!” said the mamma, shaking her head.

Meanwhile, Nadya had deigned to give Velchaninov an explanation of her words that she “was glad he had come for one reason.”

The explanation took place in a secluded avenue. Marie Nikititchna purposely

summoned Velchaninov, who was taking part in some game and was horribly bored, and left him alone in the avenue with Nadya.

“I am absolutely convinced,” she said boldly, in a rapid patter, “that you are not such a great friend of Pavel Pavlovitch’s as he boasted you were. I am reckoning on you as the one person who can do me a very great service.” She took the case out of her pocket. “I humbly beg you to give this back to him at once, as I shall never speak to him again in my life. You can say so from me, and tell him not to dare to force his company and his presents on me. I’ll let him know the rest through other people. Will you be so kind as to do what I want?”

“Oh, for mercy’s sake, spare me!” Velchaninov almost cried out, waving his hand. “What? Spare you?” Nadya was extraordinarily surprised at his refusal, and she gazed

at him round-eyed.

The tone she had assumed for the occasion broke down immediately, and she was almost in tears.

Velchaninov laughed.

“I don’t mean that.… I should be very glad … but I have my own account to settle with him.…”

“I knew that you were not his friend and that he was telling lies!” Nadya interrupted quickly and passionately. “I’ll never marry him, I tell you! Never! I can’t understand how he could presume … Only you must give him back his disgusting present or else what shall I do? I particularly, particularly want him to have it back to-day, the same day, so that his hopes may be crushed, and if he sneaks about it to Papa he shall see what he gets by it.”

And from behind the bushes there suddenly emerged the young man in the blue spectacles.

“It’s your duty to return the bracelet,” he blurted out furiously, pouncing on Velchaninov. “If only from respect for the rights of women, that is—if you are capable of rising to the full significance of the question.”

But before he had time to finish Nadya tugged at his sleeve with all her might, and drew him away from Velchaninov.

“My goodness, how silly you are, Predposylov!” she cried. “Go away, go away, go away, and don’t dare to listen; I told you to stand a long way off!”… She stamped her little foot at him, and when he had crept back into the bushes she still walked up and down across the path, with her eyes flashing and her arms folded before her, as though she were beside herself with anger.

“You wouldn’t believe how silly they are!” She stopped suddenly before Velchaninov. “It amuses you, but think what it means to me.”

“That’s not he, it’s not he, is it?” laughed Velchaninov.

“Of course it isn’t, and how could you imagine it!” cried Nadya, smiling and blushing. “That’s only his friend. But I can’t understand the friends he chooses; they all say that he’s a ‘future leader,’ but I don’t understand it.… Alexey Ivanovitch, I’ve no one I can appeal to; I ask you for the last time, will you give it back?”

“Oh, very well, I will; give it me.”

“Ah, you are kind, you are good!” she cried, delighted, handing him the case. “I’ll sing to you the whole evening for that, for I sing beautifully, do you know. I told you a fib when I said I didn’t like music. Oh, you must come again—once at any rate; how glad I should be. I would tell you everything, everything, everything, and a great deal more besides, because you’re so kind—as kind, as kind, as—as Katya!”

And when they went in to tea she did sing him two songs, in an utterly untrained and hardly mature, but pleasant and powerful voice. When they came in from the garden Pavel Pavlovitch was stolidly sitting with the parents at the tea-table, on which the big family samovar was already boiling, surrounded by cups of Sèvres china. He was probably discussing very grave matters with the old people, as two days later he was going away for nine whole months. He did not glance at the party as they came in from the garden, and particularly avoided looking at Velchaninov. It was evident, too, that he had not been sneaking and that all was serene so far.

But when Nadya began singing he put himself forward at once. Nadya purposely ignored one direct question he addressed her, but this did not disconcert Pavel Pavlovitch, or make him hesitate. He stood behind her chair and his whole manner showed that this was his place and he was not going to give it up to any one.

“Alexey Ivanovitch sings, Mamma; Alexey Ivanovitch wants to sing, Mamma!” almost all the girls shouted at once, crowding round the piano at which Velchaninov confidently installed himself, intending to play his own accompaniment. The old people came in, and with them Katerina Fedosyevna, who had been sitting with them, pouring out the tea.

Velchaninov chose a song of Glinka’s, now familiar to almost every one——

“In the glad hour when from thy lips Come murmurs tender as a dove’s.”

He sang it, addressing himself entirely to Nadya, who was standing at his elbow nearer to him than any one. His voice had passed its prime, but what was left of it showed that it had once been a fine one. Velchaninov had, twenty years before, when he was a student, the luck to hear that song for the first time sung by Glinka himself, at the house of a friend of the composer’s. It was at a literary and artistic bachelor gathering, and Glinka, growing expansive, played and sang his own favourite compositions, among them this song. He, too, had little voice left then, but Velchaninov remembered the great impression made by that song. A drawing-room singer, however skillful, would never have produced such an effect. In that song the intensity of passion rises, mounting higher and higher at every line, at every word; and, from this very intensity, the least trace of falsity, of exaggeration or unreality, such as passes muster so easily at an opera, would distort and destroy the whole value of it. To sing that slight but exceptional song it was essential to have truth, essential to have real inspiration, real passion, or a complete poetical comprehension of it. Otherwise the song would not

only be a failure but might even appear unseemly and almost shameless: without them it would be impossible to express such intensity of passion without arousing repulsion, but truth and simplicity saved it. Velchaninov remembered that he had made a success with this song on some occasion. He had almost reproduced Glinka’s manner of singing, but now, from the first note, from the first line, there was a gleam of inspiration in his singing which quivered in his voice.

At every word the torrent of feeling was more fervent and more boldly displayed; in the last lines the cry of passion is heard, and when, with blazing eyes, Velchaninov addressed the last words of the song to Nadya—

“Grown bolder, in thine eyes I gaze; Draw close my lips, can hear no more,

I long to kiss thee, kiss thee, kiss thee! I long to kiss thee, kiss thee, kiss thee!”—

She trembled almost with alarm, and even stepped back; the colour rushed into her cheeks, and at the same time Velchaninov seemed to catch a glimpse of something responsive in her abashed and almost dismayed little face. The faces of all the audience betrayed their enchantment and also their amazement: all seemed to feel that it was disgraceful and impossible to sing like that, and yet at the same time all their faces were flushed and all their eyes glowed and seemed to be expecting something more. Among those faces Velchaninov had a vision especially of the face of Katerina Fedosyevna, which looked almost beautiful.

“What a song,” old Zahlebinin muttered, a little flabbergasted; “but … isn’t it too strong? charming, but strong.…”

“Yes.…” Madame Zahlebinin chimed in, but Pavel Pavlovitch would not let her go on; he dashed forward suddenly like one possessed, so far forgetting himself as to seize Nadya by the arm and pull her away from Velchaninov; he skipped up to him, gazed at him with a desperate face and quivering lips that moved without uttering a sound.

“Half a minute,” he uttered faintly at last.

Velchaninov saw that in another minute the man might be guilty of something ten times as absurd; he made haste to take his arm and, regardless of the general amazement, drew him out into the verandah, and even took some steps into the garden with him, where it was now almost dark.

“Do you understand that you must go away with me this minute?” said Pavel Pavlovitch.

“No, I don’t understand.…”

“Do you remember,” Pavel Pavlovitch went on, in his frenzied whisper, “do you remember that you insisted that I should tell you everything, everything openly, ‘the very last word …’ do you remember? Well, the time has come to say that word … let us go!”

Velchaninov thought a minute, looked at Pavel Pavlovitch and agreed to go.

The sudden announcement of their departure upset the parents, and made all the girls horribly indignant.

“At least have another cup of tea,” said Madame Zahlebinin plaintively.

“Come, what’s upset you?” old Zahlebinin said in a tone of severity and displeasure, addressing Pavel Pavlovitch, who stood simpering and silent.

“Pavel Pavlovitch, why are you taking Alexey Ivanovitch away?” the girls began plaintively, looking at him with exasperation.

Nadya gazed at him so wrathfully that he positively squirmed, but he did not give way.

“You see, Pavel Pavlovitch has reminded me—many thanks to him for it—of a very important engagement which I might have missed,” Velchaninov said, smiling, as he shook hands with Zahlebinin, and bowed to the mamma and the girls, especially distinguishing Katerina Fedosyevna in a manner apparent to all.

“We are very grateful for your visit and shall always be glad to see you,” Zahlebinin said ponderously, in conclusion.

“Ah, we shall be so delighted.…” the mamma chimed in with feeling.

“Come again, Alexey Ivanovitch, come again!” numerous voices were heard calling from the verandah, when he had already got into the carriage with Pavel Pavlovitch; there was perhaps one voice that called more softly than the others, “Come again, dear, dear Alexey Ivanovitch.”

“That’s the red-haired girl,” thought Velchaninov…

…"

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