About seven o’clock in the evening, some of the guests wished to
depart, but the host, merry with punch, ordered the gates to be locked,
and declared that nobody should leave the house until the next morning.
Music soon resounded, the doors of the saloon were thrown open and the
ball began. The host and his familiar acquaintances sat in a corner,
draining glass after glass, and admiring the gaiety of the young
people. The old ladies played at cards. The gentlemen, as is always
the case, except where a brigade of uhlans is stationed, were less
in number than the ladies, and all the men, suitable for partners,
were soon engaged for the dance. The tutor particularly distinguished
himself among them; all the ladies wanted to have him as a partner, as
they found it so exceedingly easy to waltz with him. He danced several
times with Maria Kirilovna, and the ladies observed them with great
interest. At last, about midnight, the tired host stopped the dancing,
ordered supper to be served, and then betook himself off to bed.
The retirement of Kirila Petrovitch gave to the company more freedom
and animation. The gentlemen ventured to sit near the ladies_;_ the
girls laughed and spoke in whispers to their neighbours; the ladies
spoke in loud voices across the table; the gentlemen drank, disputed,
and laughed boisterously. In a word, the supper was exceedingly merry,
and left behind it a very agreeable impression.
One man only did not share in the general joy. Anton Pafnoutitch sat
gloomy and silent in his place, ate absently, and seemed extremely
uneasy. The conversation about the brigands had worked upon his
imagination. We shall soon see that he had good cause to fear them.
Anton Pafnoutitch, in invoking God as a witness that the little red
cash-box was empty, had not lied and sinned. The little red cash-box
was really empty. The bank notes, which had at one time been in it,
had been transferred to a leather pouch, which he carried on his
breast under his shirt. This precaution alone quieted his distrust of
everybody and his constant fear. Being compelled to spend the night
in a strange house, he was afraid that he might be lodged in some
solitary room, where thieves could easily break in. He looked round in
search of a trustworthy companion, and at last his choice fell upon
Desforges. His appearance,--indicative of strength,--but especially the
bravery shown by him in his encounter with the bear, which poor Anton
Pafnoutitch could never think of without a shudder, decided his choice.
When they rose from the table, Anton Pafnoutitch began moving round
the young Frenchman, clearing his throat and coughing, and at last he
turned to him and addressed him:
“Hm! hm! Couldn’t I spend the night in your room, mossoo, because you
see----”
“_Que desire monsieur?”_ asked Desforges, with a polite bow.
“Ah! what a pity, mossoo, that you have not yet learnt Russian. _Je
vais moa chez vous coucher._ Do you understand?”
“_Monsieur, très volontiers,_” replied Desforges, “_veuillez donner des
ordres en conséquence._”
Anton Pafnoutitch, well satisfied with his knowledge of the French
language, went off at once to make the necessary arrangements.
The guests began to wish each other good night, and each retired to
the room assigned to him, while Anton Pafnoutitch accompanied the
tutor to the wing. The night was dark. Desforges lighted the way with
a lantern. Anton Pafnoutitch followed him boldly enough, pressing the
hidden treasure occasionally against his breast, in order to convince
himself that his money was still there.
On arriving at the wing, the tutor lit a candle and both began to
undress; in the meantime Anton Pafnoutitch was walking about the room,
examining the locks and windows, and shaking his head at the unassuring
inspection. The doors fastened with only one bolt, and the windows had
not yet their double frames.[1] He tried to complain to Desforges,
but his knowledge of the French language was too limited to enable
him to express himself with sufficient clearness. The Frenchman did
not understand him, and Anton Pafnoutitch was obliged to cease his
complaints. Their beds stood opposite each other; they both lay down,
and the tutor extinguished the light.
“_Pourquoi vous toucher; pourquoi vous toucher?_” cried Anton
Pafnoutitch, conjugating the Russian verb to extinguish, after the
French manner. “I cannot _dormir_ in the dark.”
Desforges did not understand his exclamations, and wished him good
night.
“Accursed pagan!” muttered Spitsin, wrapping himself up in the
bedclothes: “he couldn’t do without extinguishing the light. So much
the worse for him. I cannot sleep without a light--_Mossoo, mossoo_,”
he continued: “_Je ve avec vous parler_.”
But the Frenchman did not reply, and soon began to snore.
“He is snoring, the French brute,” thought Anton Pafnoutitch, “while I
can’t even think of going to sleep. Thieves might walk in at any moment
through the open doors or climb in through the window, and the firing
of a cannon would not wake him, the beast!”
“_Mossoo! mossoo!_--the devil take you!”
Anton Pafnoutitch became silent. Fatigue and the effects of wine
gradually overcame his fear. He began to doze, and soon fell into a
deep sleep. A strange sensation aroused him. He felt in his sleep
that someone was gently pulling him by the collar of his shirt. Anton
Pafnoutitch opened his eyes and, by the pale light of an autumn
morning, he saw Desforges standing before him. In one hand the
Frenchman held a pocket pistol, and with the other he was unfastening
the strings of the precious leather pouch. Anton Pafnoutitch felt faint.
“_Qu’est ce que c’est, Mossoo, qu’est ce que c’est?_” said he, in a
trembling voice.
“Hush! Silence!” replied the tutor in pure Russian.
“Silence! or you are lost. I am Doubrovsky.”
[Footnote 1: The Russians put double frames to their windows in
winter.]