“Where are those Iwins and Kornakoffs now? Do you remember them?”
she continued, looking, I think, with some curiosity at my blushing,
downcast countenance. “What splendid times we used to have!”
Still I could not answer her.
The next moment, I was relieved from this awkward position by the entry
of old Madame Valakhin into the room. Rising, I bowed, and straightway
recovered my faculty of speech. On the other hand, an extraordinary
change now took place in Sonetchka. All her gaiety and bonhomie
disappeared, her smile became quite a different one, and, except for the
point of her shortness of stature, she became just the lady from abroad
whom I had expected to find in her. Yet for this change there was no
apparent reason, since her mother smiled every whit as pleasantly, and
expressed in her every movement just the same benignity, as of old.
Seating herself in her arm-chair, the old lady signed to me to come
and sit beside her; after which she said something to her daughter in
English, and Sonetchka left the room--a fact which still further helped
to relieve me. Madame then inquired after my father and brother, and
passed on to speak of her great bereavement--the loss of her husband.
Presently, however, she seemed to become sensible of the fact that I was
not helping much in the conversation, for she gave me a look as much as
to say: “If, now, my dear boy, you were to get up, to take your leave,
and to depart, it would be well.” But a curious circumstance had
overtaken me. While she had been speaking of her bereavement, I had
recalled to myself, not only the fact that I was in love, but the
probability that the mother knew of it: whereupon such a fit of
bashfulness had come upon me that I felt powerless to put any member of
my body to its legitimate use. I knew that if I were to rise and walk I
should have to think where to plant each foot, what to do with my head,
what with my hands, and so on. In a word, I foresaw that I should
be very much as I had been on the night when I partook too freely of
champagne, and therefore, since I felt uncertain of being able to manage
myself if I DID rise, I ended by feeling UNABLE to rise. Meanwhile, I
should say, Sonetchka had returned to the room with her work, and
seated herself in a far corner--a corner whence, as I was nevertheless
sensible, she could observe me. Madame must have felt some surprise as
she gazed at my crimson face and noted my complete immobility, but I
decided that it was better to continue sitting in that absurd position
than to risk something unpleasant by getting up and walking. Thus I sat
on and on, in the hope that some unforeseen chance would deliver me from
my predicament. That unforeseen chance at length presented itself in the
person of an unforeseen young man, who entered the room with an air
of being one of the household, and bowed to me politely as he did so:
whereupon Madame rose, excused herself to me for having to speak with
her “homme d’affaires,” and finally gave me a glance which said: “Well,
if you DO mean to go on sitting there for ever, at least I can’t drive
you away.” Accordingly, with a great effort I also rose, but, finding it
impossible to do any leave-taking, moved away towards the door, followed
by the pitying glances of mother and daughter. All at once I stumbled
over a chair, although it was lying quite out of my route: the reason
for my stumbling being that my whole attention was centred upon not
tripping over the carpet. Driving through the fresh air, however--where
at first I muttered and fidgeted about so much that Kuzma, my coachman,
asked me what was the matter--I soon found this feeling pass away,
and began to meditate quietly concerning my love for Sonetchka and her
relations with her mother, which had appeared to me rather strange.
When, afterwards, I told my father that mother and daughter had not
seemed on the best of terms with one another, he said:
“Yes, Madame leads the poor girl an awful life with her meanness. Yet,”
added my father with a greater display of feeling than a man might
naturally conceive for a mere relative, “she used to be such an
original, dear, charming woman! I cannot think what has made her change
so much. By the way, you didn’t notice a secretary fellow about, did
you? Fancy a Russian lady having an affaire with a secretary!”
“Yes, I saw him,” I replied.
“And was he at least good-looking?”
“No, not at all.”
“It is extraordinary!” concluded Papa, with a cough and an irritable
hoist of his shoulder.
“Well, I am in love!” was my secret thought to myself as I drove along
in my drozhki.