ONE day when she was younger and better-looking, and when her voice
was stronger, Nikolay Petrovitch Kolpakov, her adorer, was sitting
in the outer room in her summer villa. It was intolerably hot and
stifling. Kolpakov, who had just dined and drunk a whole bottle of
inferior port, felt ill-humoured and out of sorts. Both were bored
and waiting for the heat of the day to be over in order to go for
a walk.
All at once there was a sudden ring at the door. Kolpakov, who was
sitting with his coat off, in his slippers, jumped up and looked
inquiringly at Pasha.
"It must be the postman or one of the girls," said the singer.
Kolpakov did not mind being found by the postman or Pasha's lady
friends, but by way of precaution gathered up his clothes and went
into the next room, while Pasha ran to open the door. To her great
surprise in the doorway stood, not the postman and not a girl friend,
but an unknown woman, young and beautiful, who was dressed like a
lady, and from all outward signs was one.
The stranger was pale and was breathing heavily as though she had
been running up a steep flight of stairs.
"What is it?" asked Pasha.
The lady did not at once answer. She took a step forward, slowly
looked about the room, and sat down in a way that suggested that
from fatigue, or perhaps illness, she could not stand; then for a
long time her pale lips quivered as she tried in vain to speak.
"Is my husband here?" she asked at last, raising to Pasha her big
eyes with their red tear-stained lids.
"Husband?" whispered Pasha, and was suddenly so frightened that her
hands and feet turned cold. "What husband?" she repeated, beginning
to tremble.
"My husband, . . . Nikolay Petrovitch Kolpakov."
"N . . . no, madam. . . . I . . . I don't know any husband."
A minute passed in silence. The stranger several times passed her
handkerchief over her pale lips and held her breath to stop her
inward trembling, while Pasha stood before her motionless, like a
post, and looked at her with astonishment and terror.
"So you say he is not here?" the lady asked, this time speaking
with a firm voice and smiling oddly.
"I . . . I don't know who it is you are asking about."
"You are horrid, mean, vile . . ." the stranger muttered, scanning
Pasha with hatred and repulsion. "Yes, yes . . . you are horrid. I
am very, very glad that at last I can tell you so!"
Pasha felt that on this lady in black with the angry eyes and white
slender fingers she produced the impression of something horrid and
unseemly, and she felt ashamed of her chubby red cheeks, the pock-mark
on her nose, and the fringe on her forehead, which never could be
combed back. And it seemed to her that if she had been thin, and
had had no powder on her face and no fringe on her forehead, then
she could have disguised the fact that she was not "respectable,"
and she would not have felt so frightened and ashamed to stand
facing this unknown, mysterious lady.
"Where is my husband?" the lady went on. "Though I don't care whether
he is here or not, but I ought to tell you that the money has been
missed, and they are looking for Nikolay Petrovitch. . . . They
mean to arrest him. That's your doing!"
The lady got up and walked about the room in great excitement. Pasha
looked at her and was so frightened that she could not understand.
"He'll be found and arrested to-day," said the lady, and she gave
a sob, and in that sound could be heard her resentment and vexation.
"I know who has brought him to this awful position! Low, horrid
creature! Loathsome, mercenary hussy!" The lady's lips worked and
her nose wrinkled up with disgust. "I am helpless, do you hear, you
low woman? . . . I am helpless; you are stronger than I am, but
there is One to defend me and my children! God sees all! He is just!
He will punish you for every tear I have shed, for all my sleepless
nights! The time will come; you will think of me! . . ."
Silence followed again. The lady walked about the room and wrung
her hands, while Pasha still gazed blankly at her in amazement, not
understanding and expecting something terrible.
"I know nothing about it, madam," she said, and suddenly burst into
tears.
"You are lying!" cried the lady, and her eyes flashed angrily at
her. "I know all about it! I've known you a long time. I know that
for the last month he has been spending every day with you!"
"Yes. What then? What of it? I have a great many visitors, but I
don't force anyone to come. He is free to do as he likes."
"I tell you they have discovered that money is missing! He has
embezzled money at the office! For the sake of such a . . . creature
as you, for your sake he has actually committed a crime. Listen,"
said the lady in a resolute voice, stopping short, facing Pasha.
"You can have no principles; you live simply to do harm--that's
your object; but one can't imagine you have fallen so low that you
have no trace of human feeling left! He has a wife, children. . . .
If he is condemned and sent into exile we shall starve, the
children and I. . . . Understand that! And yet there is a chance
of saving him and us from destitution and disgrace. If I take them
nine hundred roubles to-day they will let him alone. Only nine
hundred roubles!"
"What nine hundred roubles?" Pasha asked softly. "I . . . I don't
know. . . . I haven't taken it."
"I am not asking you for nine hundred roubles. . . . You have no
money, and I don't want your money. I ask you for something else.
. . . Men usually give expensive things to women like you. Only
give me back the things my husband has given you!"
"Madam, he has never made me a present of anything!" Pasha wailed,
beginning to understand.
"Where is the money? He has squandered his own and mine and other
people's. . . . What has become of it all? Listen, I beg you! I was
carried away by indignation and have said a lot of nasty things to
you, but I apologize. You must hate me, I know, but if you are
capable of sympathy, put yourself in my position! I implore you to
give me back the things!"
"H'm!" said Pasha, and she shrugged her shoulders. "I would with
pleasure, but God is my witness, he never made me a present of
anything. Believe me, on my conscience. However, you are right,
though," said the singer in confusion, "he did bring me two little
things. Certainly I will give them back, if you wish it."
Pasha pulled out one of the drawers in the toilet-table and took
out of it a hollow gold bracelet and a thin ring with a ruby in it.
"Here, madam!" she said, handing the visitor these articles.
The lady flushed and her face quivered. She was offended.
"What are you giving me?" she said. "I am not asking for charity,
but for what does not belong to you . . . what you have taken
advantage of your position to squeeze out of my husband . . . that
weak, unhappy man. . . . On Thursday, when I saw you with my husband
at the harbour you were wearing expensive brooches and bracelets.
So it's no use your playing the innocent lamb to me! I ask you for
the last time: will you give me the things, or not?"
"You are a queer one, upon my word," said Pasha, beginning to feel
offended. "I assure you that, except the bracelet and this little
ring, I've never seen a thing from your Nikolay Petrovitch. He
brings me nothing but sweet cakes."
"Sweet cakes!" laughed the stranger. "At home the children have
nothing to eat, and here you have sweet cakes. You absolutely refuse
to restore the presents?"
Receiving no answer, the lady sat, down and stared into space,
pondering.
"What's to be done now?" she said. "If I don't get nine hundred
roubles, he is ruined, and the children and I am ruined, too. Shall
I kill this low woman or go down on my knees to her?"
The lady pressed her handkerchief to her face and broke into sobs.
"I beg you!" Pasha heard through the stranger's sobs. "You see you
have plundered and ruined my husband. Save him. . . . You have no
feeling for him, but the children . . . the children . . . What
have the children done?"
Pasha imagined little children standing in the street, crying with
hunger, and she, too, sobbed.
"What can I do, madam?" she said. "You say that I am a low woman
and that I have ruined Nikolay Petrovitch, and I assure you . . .
before God Almighty, I have had nothing from him whatever. . . .
There is only one girl in our chorus who has a rich admirer; all
the rest of us live from hand to mouth on bread and kvass. Nikolay
Petrovitch is a highly educated, refined gentleman, so I've made
him welcome. We are bound to make gentlemen welcome."
"I ask you for the things! Give me the things! I am crying. . . .
I am humiliating myself. . . . If you like I will go down on my
knees! If you wish it!"
Pasha shrieked with horror and waved her hands. She felt that this
pale, beautiful lady who expressed herself so grandly, as though
she were on the stage, really might go down on her knees to her,
simply from pride, from grandeur, to exalt herself and humiliate
the chorus girl.
"Very well, I will give you things!" said Pasha, wiping her eyes
and bustling about. "By all means. Only they are not from Nikolay
Petrovitch. . . . I got these from other gentlemen. As you
please. . . ."
Pasha pulled out the upper drawer of the chest, took out a diamond
brooch, a coral necklace, some rings and bracelets, and gave them
all to the lady.
"Take them if you like, only I've never had anything from your
husband. Take them and grow rich," Pasha went on, offended at the
threat to go down on her knees. "And if you are a lady . . . his
lawful wife, you should keep him to yourself. I should think so! I
did not ask him to come; he came of himself."
Through her tears the lady scrutinized the articles given her and
said:
"This isn't everything. . . . There won't be five hundred roubles'
worth here."
Pasha impulsively flung out of the chest a gold watch, a cigar-case
and studs, and said, flinging up her hands:
"I've nothing else left. . . . You can search!"
The visitor gave a sigh, with trembling hands twisted the things
up in her handkerchief, and went out without uttering a word, without
even nodding her head.
The door from the next room opened and Kolpakov walked in. He was
pale and kept shaking his head nervously, as though he had swallowed
something very bitter; tears were glistening in his eyes.
"What presents did you make me?" Pasha asked, pouncing upon him.
"When did you, allow me to ask you?"
"Presents . . . that's no matter!" said Kolpakov, and he tossed his
head. "My God! She cried before you, she humbled herself. . . ."
"I am asking you, what presents did you make me?" Pasha cried.
"My God! She, a lady, so proud, so pure. . . . She was ready to go
down on her knees to . . . to this wench! And I've brought her to
this! I've allowed it!"
He clutched his head in his hands and moaned.
"No, I shall never forgive myself for this! I shall never forgive
myself! Get away from me . . . you low creature!" he cried with
repulsion, backing away from Pasha, and thrusting her off with
trembling hands. "She would have gone down on her knees, and . . .
and to you! Oh, my God!"
He rapidly dressed, and pushing Pasha aside contemptuously, made
for the door and went out.
Pasha lay down and began wailing aloud. She was already regretting
her things which she had given away so impulsively, and her feelings
were hurt. She remembered how three years ago a merchant had beaten
her for no sort of reason, and she wailed more loudly than ever.