"Oh, how do you do!" she said, recognizing me at once, and holding
out her hand. "I'm very glad to see you."
She smiled and looked with curiosity and wonder at my smock, my
pail of paste, the paper stretched on the floor; I was embarrassed,
and she, too, felt awkward.
"You must excuse my looking at you like this," she said. "I have
been told so much about you. Especially by Dr. Blagovo; he is simply
in love with you. And I have made the acquaintance of your sister
too; a sweet, dear girl, but I can never persuade her that there
is nothing awful about your adopting the simple life. On the contrary,
you have become the most interesting man in the town."
She looked again at the pail of paste and the wallpaper, and went
on:
"I asked Dr. Blagovo to make me better acquainted with you, but
apparently he forgot, or had not time. Anyway, we are acquainted
all the same, and if you would come and see me quite simply I should
be extremely indebted to you. I so long to have a talk. I am a
simple person," she added, holding out her hand to me, "and I hope
that you will feel no constraint with me. My father is not here,
he is in Petersburg."
She went off into the reading-room, rustling her skirts, while I
went home, and for a long time could not get to sleep.
That cheerless autumn some kind soul, evidently wishing to alleviate
my existence, sent me from time to time tea and lemons, or biscuits,
or roast game. Karpovna told me that they were always brought by a
soldier, and from whom they came she did not know; and the soldier
used to enquire whether I was well, and whether I dined every day,
and whether I had warm clothing. When the frosts began I was presented
in the same way in my absence with a soft knitted scarf brought by
the soldier. There was a faint elusive smell of scent about it, and
I guessed who my good fairy was. The scarf smelt of lilies-of-the-valley,
the favourite scent of Anyuta Blagovo.
Towards winter there was more work and it was more cheerful. Radish
recovered, and we worked together in the cemetery church, where we
were putting the ground-work on the ikon-stand before gilding. It
was a clean, quiet job, and, as our fellows used to say, profitable.
One could get through a lot of work in a day, and the time passed
quickly, imperceptibly. There was no swearing, no laughter, no loud
talk. The place itself compelled one to quietness and decent
behaviour, and disposed one to quiet, serious thoughts. Absorbed
in our work we stood or sat motionless like statues; there was a
deathly silence in keeping with the cemetery, so that if a tool
fell, or a flame spluttered in the lamp, the noise of such sounds
rang out abrupt and resonant, and made us look round. After a long
silence we would hear a buzzing like the swarming of bees: it was
the requiem of a baby being chanted slowly in subdued voices in the
porch; or an artist, painting a dove with stars round it on a cupola
would begin softly whistling, and recollecting himself with a start
would at once relapse into silence; or Radish, answering his thoughts,
would say with a sigh: "Anything is possible! Anything is possible!"
or a slow disconsolate bell would begin ringing over our heads, and
the painters would observe that it must be for the funeral of some
wealthy person. . . .
My days I spent in this stillness in the twilight of the church,
and in the long evenings I played billiards or went to the theatre
in the gallery wearing the new trousers I had bought out of my own
earnings. Concerts and performances had already begun at the
Azhogins'; Radish used to paint the scenes alone now. He used to
tell me the plot of the plays and describe the _tableaux vivants_
which he witnessed. I listened to him with envy. I felt greatly
drawn to the rehearsals, but I could not bring myself to go to the
Azhogins'.
A week before Christmas Dr. Blagovo arrived. And again we argued
and played billiards in the evenings. When he played he used to
take off his coat and unbutton his shirt over his chest, and for
some reason tried altogether to assume the air of a desperate rake.
He did not drink much, but made a great uproar about it, and had a
special faculty for getting through twenty roubles in an evening
at such a poor cheap tavern as the _Volga_.
My sister began coming to see me again; they both expressed surprise
every time on seeing each other, but from her joyful, guilty face
it was evident that these meetings were not accidental. One evening,
when we were playing billiards, the doctor said to me:
"I say, why don't you go and see Miss Dolzhikov? You don't know
Mariya Viktorovna; she is a clever creature, a charmer, a simple,
good-natured soul."