Kuzma Vassilyevitch stayed at Madame Fritsche's till midnight. He had
not spent such a pleasant evening since his arrival at Nikolaev. It is
true that it occurred to him that it was not seemly for an officer and
a gentleman to be associating with such persons as this native of Riga
and her auntie, but Emilie was so pretty, babbled so amusingly and
bestowed such friendly looks upon him, that he dismissed his rank and
family and made up his mind for once to enjoy himself. Only one
circumstance disturbed him and left an impression that was not quite
agreeable. When his conversation with Emilie and Madame Fritsche was
in full swing, the door from the lobby opened a crack and a man's hand
in a dark cuff with three tiny silver buttons on it was stealthily
thrust in and stealthily laid a big bundle on the chair near the door.
Both ladies instantly darted to the chair and began examining the
bundle. "But these are the wrong spoons!" cried Emilie, but her aunt
nudged her with her elbow and carried away the bundle without tying up
the ends. It seemed to Kuzma Vassilyevitch that one end was spattered
with something red, like blood.
"What is it?" he asked Emilie. "Is it some more stolen things returned
to you?"
"Yes," answered Emilie, as it were, reluctantly. "Some more."
"Was it your servant found them?"
Emilie frowned.
"What servant? We haven't any servant."
"Some other man, then?"
"No men come to see us."
"But excuse me, excuse me.... I saw the cuff of a man's coat or
jacket. And, besides, this cap...."
"Men never, never come to see us," Emilie repeated emphatically. "What
did you see? You saw nothing! And that cap is mine."
"How is that?"
"Why, just that. I wear it for dressing up.... Yes, it is mine, _und
Punctum_."
"Who brought you the bundle, then?"
Emilie made no answer and, pouting, followed Madame Fritsche out of
the room. Ten minutes later she came back alone, without her aunt and
when Kuzma Vassilyevitch tried to question her again, she gazed at his
forehead, said that it was disgraceful for a gentleman to be so
inquisitive (as she said this, her face changed a little, as it were,
darkened), and taking a pack of old cards from the card table drawer,
asked him to tell fortunes for her and the king of hearts.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch laughed, took the cards, and all evil thoughts
immediately slipped out of his mind.
But they came back to him that very day. When he had got out of the
gate into the street, had said good-bye to Emilie, shouted to her for
the last time, _"Adieu, Zuckerpüppchen!"_ a short man darted by
him and turning for a minute in his direction (it was past midnight
but the moon was shining rather brightly), displayed a lean gipsy face
with thick black eyebrows and moustache, black eyes and a hooked nose.
The man at once rushed round the corner and it struck Kuzma
Vassilyevitch that he recognised--not his face, for he had never seen
it before--but the cuff of his sleeve. Three silver buttons gleamed
distinctly in the moonlight. There was a stir of uneasy perplexity in
the soul of the prudent lieutenant; when he got home he did not light
as usual his meerschaum pipe. Though, indeed, his sudden acquaintance
with charming Emilie and the agreeable hours spent in her company
would alone have induced his agitation.
X
Whatever Kuzma Vassilyevitch's apprehensions may have been, they were
quickly dissipated and left no trace. He took to visiting the two
ladies from Riga frequently. The susceptible lieutenant was soon on
friendly terms with Emilie. At first he was ashamed of the
acquaintance and concealed his visits; later on he got over being
ashamed and no longer concealed his visits; it ended by his being more
eager to spend his time with his new friends than with anyone and
greatly preferring their society to the cheerless solitude of his own
four walls. Madame Fritsche herself no longer made the same unpleasant
impression upon him, though she still treated him morosely and
ungraciously. Persons in straitened circumstances like Madame Fritsche
particularly appreciate a liberal expenditure in their visitors, and
Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a little stingy and his presents for the most
part took the shape of raisins, walnuts, cakes.... Only once he let
himself go and presented Emilie with a light pink fichu of real French
material, and that very day she had burnt a hole in his gift with a
candle. He began to upbraid her; she fixed the fichu to the cat's
tail; he was angry; she laughed in his face. Kuzma Vassilyevitch was
forced at last to admit to himself that he had not only failed to win
the respect of the ladies from Riga, but had even failed to gain their
confidence: he was never admitted at once, without preliminary
scrutinising; he was often kept waiting; sometimes he was sent away
without the slightest ceremony and when they wanted to conceal
something from him they would converse in German in his presence.
Emilie gave him no account of her doings and replied to his questions
in an offhand way as though she had not heard them; and, worst of all,
some of the rooms in Madame Fritsche's house, which was a fairly large
one, though it looked like a hovel from the street, were never opened
to him. For all that, Kuzma Vassilyevitch did not give up his visits;
on the contrary, he paid them more and more frequently: he was seeing
living people, anyway. His vanity was gratified by Emilie's continuing
to call him Florestan, considering him exceptionally handsome and
declaring that he had eyes like a bird of paradise, "_wie die Augen
eines Paradiesvogels!_"