Arátoff found few pedestrians on the boulevard. The weather was raw and
quite cold. He strove not to think of what he was doing. He forced
himself to turn his attention to all the objects he came across and
pretended to assure himself that he had come out to walk precisely like
the other people.... The letter of the day before was in his
side-pocket, and he was uninterruptedly conscious of its presence. He
walked the length of the boulevard a couple of times, darting keen
glances at every feminine form which approached him, and his heart
thumped, thumped violently.... He began to feel tired, and sat down on a
bench. And suddenly the idea occurred to him: "Come now, what if that
letter was not written by her but by some one else, by some other
woman?" In point of fact, that should have made no difference to him ...
and yet he was forced to admit to himself that he did not wish this. "It
would be very stupid," he thought, "still more stupid than _that_!" A
nervous restlessness began to take possession of him; he began to feel
chilly, not outwardly but inwardly. Several times he drew out his watch
from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at the face, put it back again,--and
every time forgot how many minutes were lacking to five o'clock. It
seemed to him as though every one who passed him stared at him in a
peculiar manner, surveying him with a certain sneering surprise and
curiosity. A wretched little dog ran up, sniffed at his legs and began
to wag its tail. He flourished his arms angrily at it. He was most
annoyed of all by a small boy from a factory in a bed-ticking jacket,
who seated himself on the bench and first whistled, then scratched his
head, dangling his legs, encased in huge, broken boots, the while, and
staring at him from time to time. "His employer is certainly expecting
him," thought Arátoff, "and here he is, the lazy dog, wasting his time
idling about...."
But at that same moment it seemed to him as though some one had
approached and taken up a stand close behind him ... a warm current
emanated thence....
He glanced round.... It was she!
He recognised her immediately, although a thick, dark-blue veil
concealed her features. He instantly sprang from the bench, and remained
standing there, unable to utter a word. She also maintained silence. He
felt greatly agitated ... but her agitation was as great as his: Arátoff
could not help seeing even through the veil how deadly pale she grew.
But she was the first to speak.
"Thank you," she began in a broken voice, "thank you for coming. I did
not hope...." She turned away slightly and walked along the boulevard.
Arátoff followed her.
"Perhaps you condemn me," she went on, without turning her head.--"As a
matter of fact, my action is very strange.... But I have heard a great
deal about you ... but no! I ... that was not the cause.... If you only
knew.... I wanted to say so much to you, my God!... But how am I to do
it?... How am I to do it!"
Arátoff walked by her side, but a little in the rear. He did not see her
face; he saw only her hat and a part of her veil ... and her long,
threadbare cloak. All his vexation against her and against himself
suddenly returned to him; all the absurdity, all the awkwardness of this
tryst, of these explanations between utter strangers, on a public
boulevard, suddenly presented itself to him.
"I have come hither at your behest," he began in his turn, "I have come,
my dear madame" (her shoulders quivered softly, she turned into a side
path, and he followed her), "merely for the sake of having an
explanation, of learning in consequence of what strange misunderstanding
you were pleased to appeal to me, a stranger to you, who ... who only
_guessed_, as you expressed it in your letter, that it was precisely you
who had written to him ... because he guessed that you had tried, in the
course of that literary morning to show him too much ... too much
obvious attention."
Arátoff uttered the whole of this little speech in the same resonant but
firm voice in which men who are still very young answer at examinations
on questions for which they are well prepared.... He was indignant; he
was angry.... And that wrath had loosed his tongue which was not very
fluent on ordinary occasions.
She continued to advance along the path with somewhat lagging steps....
Arátoff followed her as before, and as before saw only her little old
mantilla and her small hat, which was not quite new either. His vanity
suffered at the thought that she must now be thinking: "All I had to do
was to make a sign, and he immediately hastened to me!"
Arátoff lapsed into silence ... he expected that she would reply to him;
but she did not utter a word.
"I am ready to listen to you," he began again, "and I shall even be very
glad if I can be of service to you in any way ... although, I must
confess, nevertheless, that I find it astonishing ... that considering
my isolated life...."
But at his last words Clara suddenly turned to him and he beheld the
same startled, profoundly-sorrowful visage, with the same large, bright
tears in its eyes, with the same woful expression around the parted
lips; and the visage was so fine thus that he involuntarily broke off
short and felt within himself something akin to fright, and pity and
forbearance.
"Akh, why ... why are you like this? ..." she said with irresistibly
sincere and upright force--and what a touching ring there was to her
voice!--"Is it possible that my appeal to you can have offended you?...
Is it possible that you have understood nothing?... Ah, yes! You have
not understood anything, you have not understood what I said to you. God
knows what you have imagined about me, you have not even reflected what
it cost me to write to you!... You have been anxious only on your own
account, about your own dignity, your own peace!... But did I...." (she
so tightly clenched her hands which she had raised to her lips that her
fingers cracked audibly).... "As though I had made any demands upon you,
as though explanations were requisite to begin with.... 'My dear
madame'.... 'I even find it astonishing'.... 'If I can be of service to
you'.... Akh, how foolish I have been!--I have been deceived in you, in
your face!... When I saw you for the first time.... There.... There you
stand.... And not one word do you utter! Have you really not a word to
say?"
She had been imploring.... Her face suddenly flushed, and as suddenly
assumed an evil and audacious expression,--"O Lord! how stupid this
is!"--she cried suddenly, with a harsh laugh.--"How stupid our tryst is!
How stupid I am! ... and you, too!... Fie!"
She made a disdainful gesture with her hand as though sweeping him out
of her path, and passing around him she ran swiftly from the boulevard
and disappeared.
That gesture of the hand, that insulting laugh, that final exclamation
instantly restored Arátoff to his former frame of mind and stifled in
him the feeling which had risen in his soul when she turned to him with
tears in her eyes. Again he waxed wroth, and came near shouting after
the retreating girl: "You may turn out a good actress, but why have you
taken it into your head to play a comedy on me?"
With great strides he returned home, and although he continued to be
indignant and to rage all the way thither, still, at the same time,
athwart all these evil, hostile feelings there forced its way the memory
of that wondrous face which he had beheld only for the twinkling of an
eye.... He even put to himself the question: "Why did not I answer her
when she demanded from me at least one word?"--"I did not have time,"
... he thought.... "She did not give me a chance to utter that word....
And what would I have uttered?"