'Panteley Eremyitch was pleased to hunt two hares yesterday,'
Nedopyuskin began again with an effort, obviously wishing to enliven the
conversation; 'yes, indeed, very big hares they were, sir.'
'Has Mr. Tchertop-hanov good hounds?'
'The most wonderful hounds, sir!' Nedopyuskin replied, delighted; 'one
may say, the best in the province, indeed.' (He drew nearer to me.)
'But, then, Panteley Eremyitch is such a wonderful man! He has only to
wish for anything--he has only to take an idea into his head--and before
you can look round, it's done; everything, you may say, goes like
clockwork. Panteley Eremyitch, I assure you....'
Tchertop-hanov came into the room. Nedopyuskin smiled, ceased speaking,
and indicated him to me with a glance which seemed to say, 'There, you
will see for yourself.' We fell to talking about hunting.
'Would you like me to show you my leash?' Tchertop-hanov asked me; and,
not waiting for a reply, he called Karp.
A sturdy lad came in, in a green nankin long coat, with a blue collar
and livery buttons.
'Tell Fomka,' said Tchertop-hanov abruptly, 'to bring in Ammalat and
Saiga, and in good order, do you understand?'
Karp gave a broad grin, uttered an indefinite sound, and went away.
Fomka made his appearance, well combed and tightly buttoned up, in
boots, and with the hounds. From politeness, I admired the stupid beasts
(harriers are all exceedingly stupid). Tchertop-hanov spat right into
Ammalat's nostrils, which did not, however, apparently afford that dog
the slightest satisfaction. Nedopyuskin, too, stroked Ammalat from
behind. We began chatting again. By degrees Tchertop-hanov unbent
completely, and no longer stood on his dignity nor snorted defiantly;
the expression of his face changed. He glanced at me and at
Nedopyuskin....
'Hey!' he cried suddenly; 'why should she sit in there alone? Masha! hi,
Masha! come in here!'
Some one stirred in the next room, but there was no answer.
'Ma-a-sha!' Tchertop-hanov repeated caressingly; 'come in here. It's all
right, don't be afraid.'
The door was softly opened, and I caught sight of a tall and slender
girl of twenty, with a dark gypsy face, golden-brown eyes, and hair
black as pitch; her large white teeth gleamed between full red lips. She
had on a white dress; a blue shawl, pinned close round her throat with a
gold brooch, half hid her slender, beautiful arms, in which one could
see the fineness of her race. She took two steps with the bashful
awkwardness of some wild creature, stood still, and looked down.
'Come, let me introduce,' said Panteley Eremyitch; 'wife she is not, but
she's to be respected as a wife.'
Masha flushed slightly, and smiled in confusion. I made her a low bow. I
thought her very charming. The delicate falcon nose, with distended,
half-transparent nostrils; the bold sweep of her high eyebrows, the
pale, almost sunken cheeks--every feature of her face denoted wilful
passion and reckless devilry. From under the coil of her hair two rows
of little shining hairs ran down her broad neck--a sign of race and
vigour.
She went to the window and sat down. I did not want to increase her
embarrassment, and began talking with Tchertop-hanov. Masha turned her
head slyly, and began peeping from under her eyelids at me stealthily,
shyly, and swiftly. Her glance seemed to flash out like a snake's sting.
Nedopyuskin sat beside her, and whispered something in her ear. She
smiled again. When she smiled, her nose slightly puckered up, and her
upper lip was raised, which gave her face something of the expression of
a cat or a lion....
'Oh, but you're one of the "hands off!" sort,' I thought, in my turn
stealing a look at her supple frame, her hollow breast, and her quick,
angular movements.
'Masha,' Tchertop-hanov asked, 'don't you think we ought to give our
visitor some entertainment, eh?'
'We've got some jam,' she replied.
'Well, bring the jam here, and some vodka, too, while you're about it.
And, I say, Masha,' he shouted after her, 'bring the guitar in too.'
'What's the guitar for? I'm not going to sing.'
'Why?'
'I don't want to.'
'Oh, nonsense; you'll want to when....'
'What?' asked Masha, rapidly knitting her brows.
'When you're asked,' Tchertop-hanov went on, with some embarrassment.
'Oh!'
She went out, soon came back with jam and vodka, and again sat by the
window. There was still a line to be seen on her forehead; the two
eyebrows rose and drooped like a wasp's antennae.... Have you ever
noticed, reader, what a wicked face the wasp has? 'Well,' I thought,
'I'm in for a storm.' The conversation flagged. Nedopyuskin shut up
completely, and wore a forced smile; Tchertop-hanov panted, turned red,
and opened his eyes wide; I was on the point of taking leave....
Suddenly Masha got up, flung open the window, thrust out her head, and
shouted lustily to a passing peasant woman, 'Aksinya!' The woman
started, and tried to turn round, but slipped down and flopped heavily
on to a dung-heap. Masha threw herself back and laughed merrily;
Tchertop-hanov laughed too; Nedopyuskin shrieked with delight. We all
revived. The storm had passed off in one flash of lightning... the air
was clear again.
Half-an-hour later, no one would have recognised us; we were chatting
and frolicking like children. Masha was the merriest of all;
Tchertop-hanov simply could not take his eyes off her. Her face grew
paler, her nostrils dilated, her eyes glowed and darkened at the same
time. It was a wild creature at play. Nedopyuskin limped after her on
his short, fat little legs, like a drake after a duck. Even Venzor
crawled out of his hiding-place in the hall, stood a moment in the
doorway, glanced at us, and suddenly fell to jumping up into the air and
barking. Masha flitted into the other room, fetched the guitar, flung
off the shawl from her shoulders, seated herself quickly, and, raising
her head, began singing a gypsy song. Her voice rang out, vibrating like
a glass bell when it is struck; it flamed up and died away.... It filled
the heart with sweetness and pain.... Tchertop-hanov fell to dancing.
Nedopyuskin stamped and swung his legs in tune. Masha was all a-quiver,
like birch-bark in the fire; her delicate fingers flew playfully over
the guitar, her dark-skinned throat slowly heaved under the two rows of
amber. All at once she would cease singing, sink into exhaustion, and
twang the guitar, as it were involuntarily, and Tchertop-hanov stood
still, merely working his shoulders and turning round in one place,
while Nedopyuskin nodded his head like a Chinese figure; then she would
break out into song like a mad thing, drawing herself up and holding up
her head, and Tchertop-hanov again curtsied down to the ground, leaped
up to the ceiling, spun round like a top, crying 'Quicker!...'
'Quicker, quicker, quicker!' Nedopyuskin chimed in, speaking very fast.
It was late in the evening when I left Bezsonovo....