Kuzma Vassilyevitch immediately hastened into the secret room again on
tiptoe. Colibri was lying on the sofa in a white dress with a broad
red sash. Covering the lower part of her face with a handkerchief, she
was laughing, a noiseless but genuine laugh. She had done up her hair,
this time plaiting it into two long, thick plaits intertwined with red
ribbon; the same slippers adorned her tiny, crossed feet but the feet
themselves were bare and looking at them one might fancy that she had
on dark, silky stockings. The sofa stood in a different position,
nearer the wall; and on the table he saw on a Chinese tray a
bright-coloured, round-bellied coffee pot beside a cut glass sugar bowl
and two blue China cups. The guitar was lying there, too, and blue-grey
smoke rose in a thin coil from a big, aromatic candle.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch went up to the sofa and bent over Colibri, but
before he had time to utter a word she held out her hand and, still
laughing in her handkerchief, put her little, rough fingers into his
hair and instantly ruffled the well-arranged curls on the top of his
head.
"What next?" exclaimed Kuzma Vassilyevitch, not altogether pleased by
such unceremoniousness. "Oh, you naughty girl!"
Colibri took the handkerchief from her face.
"Not nice so; better now." She moved away
to the further end of the sofa and drew her feet
up under her. "Sit down ... there."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch sat down on the spot indicated.
"Why do you move away?" he said, after a brief silence. "Surely you
are not afraid of me?"
Colibri curled herself up and looked at him sideways.
"I am not afraid ... no."
"You must not be shy with me," Kuzma Vassilyevitch said in an
admonishing tone. "Do you remember your promise yesterday to give me a
kiss?"
Colibri put her arms round her knees, laid her head on them and looked
at him again.
"I remember."
"I should hope so. And you must keep your word."
"Yes ... I must."
"In that case," Kuzma Vassilyevitch was beginning, and he moved
nearer.
Colibri freed her plaits which she was holding tight with her knees
and with one of them gave him a flick on his hand.
"Not so fast, sir!"
Kuzma Vassilyevitch was embarrassed.
"What eyes she has, the rogue!" he muttered, as though to himself.
"But," he went on, raising his voice, "why did you call me ... if that
is how it is?"
Colibri craned her neck like a bird ... she listened. Kuzma
Vassilyevitch was alarmed.
"Emilie?" he asked.
"No."
"Someone else?"
Colibri shrugged her shoulder.
"Do you hear something?"
"Nothing." With a birdlike movement, again Colibri drew back her
little oval-shaped head with its pretty parting and the short growth
of tiny curls on the nape of her neck where her plaits began, and
again curled herself up into a ball. "Nothing."
"Nothing! Then now I'll ..." Kuzma Vassilyevitch craned forward
towards Colibri but at once pulled back his hand. There was a drop of
blood on his finger. "What foolishness is this!" he cried, shaking his
finger. "Your everlasting pins! And the devil of a pin it is!" he
added, looking at the long, golden pin which Colibri slowly thrust
into her sash. "It's a regular dagger, it's a sting.... Yes, yes, it's
your sting, and you are a wasp, that's what you are, a wasp, do you
hear?"
Apparently Colibri was much pleased at Kuzma Vasselyevitch's
comparison; she went off into a thin laugh and repeated several times
over:
"Yes, I will sting ... I will sting."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch looked at her and thought: "She is laughing but
her face is melancholy.
"Look what I am going to show you," he said aloud.
"_Tso?_"
"Why do you say _tso?_ Are you a Pole?"
"_Nee_."
"Now you say _nee!_ But there, it's no matter." Kuzma
Vassilyevitch got out his present and waved it in the air. "Look at
it.... Isn't it nice?"
Colibri raised her eyes indifferently.
"Ah! A cross! We don't wear."
"What? You don't wear a cross? Are you a Jewess then, or what?"
"We don't wear," repeated Colibri, and, suddenly starting, looked back
over her shoulder. "Would you like me to sing?" she asked hurriedly.
Kuzma Vassilyevitch put the cross in the pocket of his uniform and he,
too, looked round.
"What is it?" he muttered.
"A mouse ... a mouse," Colibri said hurriedly, and suddenly to Kuzma
Vassilyevitch's complete surprise, flung her smooth, supple arms round
his neck and a rapid kiss burned his cheek ... as though a red-hot
ember had been pressed against it.
He pressed Colibri in his arms but she slipped away like a snake--her
waist was hardly thicker than the body of a snake--and leapt to her
feet.
"Wait," she whispered, "you must have some coffee first."
"Nonsense! Coffee, indeed! Afterwards."
"No, now. Now hot, after cold." She took hold of the coffee pot by the
handle and, lifting it high, began pouring out two cups. The coffee
fell in a thin, as it were, twirling stream; Colibri leaned her head
on her shoulder and watched it fall. "There, put in the sugar ...
drink ... and I'll drink."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch put a lump of sugar in the cup and drank it off at
one draught. The coffee struck him as very strong and bitter. Colibri
looked at him, smiling, and faintly dilated her nostrils over the edge
of her cup. She slowly put it down on the table.
"Why don't you drink it?" asked Kuzma Vassilyevitch.
"Not all, now."
Kuzma Vassilyevitch got excited.
"Do sit down beside me, at least."
"In a minute." She bent her head and, still keeping her eyes fixed on
Kuzma Vassilyevitch, picked up the guitar. "Only I will sing first."
"Yes, yes, only sit down."
"And I will dance. Shall I?"
"You dance? Well, I should like to see that. But can't that be
afterwards?"
"No, now.... But I love you very much."
"You love? Mind now ... dance away, then, you queer creature."