‘Grigory,’ Irina was saying to him two hours later, as she sat beside
him on the sofa, and laid both hands on his shoulder, ‘what is the
matter with you? Tell me now quickly, while we’re alone.’
‘The matter with me?’ said Litvinov. ‘I am happy, happy, that’s what’s
the matter with me.’
Irina looked down, smiled, sighed.
‘That’s not an answer to my question, my dear one.’
Litvinov grew thoughtful.
‘Well, let me tell you then ... since you insist positively on it’
(Irina opened her eyes wide and trembled slightly), ‘I have told
everything to-day to my betrothed.’
‘What, everything? You mentioned me?’
Litvinov fairly threw up his arms.
‘Irina, for God’s sake, how could such an idea enter your head! that
I----’
‘There, forgive me ... forgive me. What did you say?’
‘I told her that I no longer loved her.’
‘She asked why?’
‘I did not disguise the fact that I loved another woman, and that we
must part.’
‘Ah ... and what did she do? Agreed?’
‘O Irina! what a girl she is! She was all self-sacrifice, all
generosity!’
‘I’ve no doubt, I’ve no doubt ... there was nothing else for her to do,
though.’
‘And not one reproach, not one hard word to me, who have spoiled her
whole life, deceived her, pitilessly flung her over....’
Irina scrutinised her finger nails.
‘Tell me, Grigory ... did she love you?’
‘Yes, Irina, she loved me.’
Irina was silent a minute, she straightened her dress.
‘I must confess,’ she began, ‘I don’t quite understand what induced you
to explain matters to her.’
‘What induced me, Irina! Would you have liked me to lie, to be a
hypocrite to her, that pure soul? or did you suppose----’
‘I supposed nothing,’ Irina interrupted. ‘I must admit I have thought
very little about her. I don’t know how to think of two people at once.’
‘That is, you mean----’
‘Well, and so what then? Is she going away, that pure soul?’ Irina
interrupted a second time.
‘I know nothing,’ answered Litvinov. ‘I am to see her again. But she
will not stay.’
‘Ah! _bon voyage!_’
‘No, she will not stay. But I’m not thinking of her either now, I am
thinking of what you said to me, what you have promised me.’
Irina looked up at him from under her eyelids.
‘Ungrateful one! aren’t you content yet?’
‘No, Irina, I’m not content. You have made me happy, but I’m not
content, and you understand me.’
‘That is, I----’
‘Yes, you understand me. Remember your words, remember what you wrote to
me. I can’t share you with others; no, no, I can’t consent to the
pitiful rôle of secret lover; not my life alone, this other life too I
have flung at your feet, I have renounced everything, I have crushed it
all to dust, without compunction and beyond recall; but in return I
trust, I firmly believe, that you too will keep your promise, and unite
your lot with mine for ever.’
‘You want me to run away with you? I am ready....’ (Litvinov bent down
to her hands in ecstasy.) ‘I am ready. I will not go back from my word.
But have you yourself thought over all the difficulties--have you made
preparations?’
‘I? I have not had time yet to think over or prepare anything, but only
say yes, let me act, and before a month is over....’
‘A month! we start for Italy in a fortnight.’
‘A fortnight, then, is enough for me. O Irina, you seem to take my
proposition coldly; perhaps it seems unpractical to you, but I am not a
boy, I am not used to comforting myself with dreams, I know what a
tremendous step this is, I know what a responsibility I am taking on
myself; but I can see no other course. Think of it, I must break every
tie with the past, if only not to be a contemptible liar in the eyes of
the girl I have sacrificed for you!’
Irina drew herself up suddenly and her eyes flashed.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Grigory Mihalitch! If I decide, if I run away,
then it will at least be with a man who does it for my sake, for my sake
simply, and not in order that he may not degrade himself in the good
opinion of a phlegmatic young person, with milk and water, _du lait
coupé_ instead of blood, in her veins! And I must tell you too, it’s the
first time, I confess, that it’s been my lot to hear that the man I
honour with my regard is deserving of commiseration, playing a pitiful
part! I know a far more pitiful part, the part of a man who doesn’t know
what is going on in his own heart!’
Litvinov drew himself up in his turn.
‘Irina,’ he was beginning----
But all at once she clapped both hands to her forehead, and with a
convulsive motion, flinging herself on his breast, she embraced him with
force beyond a woman’s.
‘Forgive me, forgive me,’ she began, with a shaking voice, ‘forgive me,
Grigory! You see how corrupted I am, how horrid I am, how jealous and
wicked! You see how I need your aid, your indulgence! Yes, save me, drag
me out of this mire, before I am quite ruined! Yes, let us run away, let
us run away from these people, from this society to some far off, fair,
free country! Perhaps your Irina will at last be worthier of the
sacrifices you are making for her! Don’t be angry with me, forgive me,
my sweet, and know that I will do everything you command, I will go
anywhere you will take me!’
Litvinov’s heart was in a turmoil. Irina clung closer than before to him
with all her youthful supple body. He bent over her fragrant, disordered
tresses, and in an intoxication of gratitude and ecstasy, he hardly
dared to caress them with his hand, he hardly touched them with his
lips.
‘Irina, Irina,’ he repeated,--‘my angel....’
She suddenly raised her head, listened....
‘It’s my husband’s step, ... he has gone into his room,’ she whispered,
and, moving hurriedly away, she crossed over to another armchair.
Litvinov was getting up.... ‘What are you doing?’ she went on in the
same whisper; ‘you must stay, he suspects you as it is. Or are you
afraid of him?’ She did not take her eyes off the door. ‘Yes, it’s he;
he will come in here directly. Tell me something, talk to me.’ Litvinov
could not at once recover himself and was silent. ‘Aren’t you going to
the theatre to-morrow?’ she uttered aloud. ‘They’re giving _Le Verre
d’Eau_, an old-fashioned piece, and Plessy is awfully affected.... We’re
as though we were in a perfect fever,’ she added, dropping her voice.
‘We can’t do anything like this; we must think things over well. I ought
to warn you that all my money is in his hands; _mais j’ai mes bijoux_.
We’ll go to Spain, would you like that?’ She raised her voice again.
‘Why is it all actresses get so fat? Madeleine Brohan for instance....
Do talk, don’t sit so silent. My head is going round. But you, you must
not doubt me.... I will let you know where to come to-morrow. Only it
was a mistake to have told that young lady.... _Ah, mais c’est
charmant!_’ she cried suddenly and with a nervous laugh, she tore the
lace edge of her handkerchief.
‘May I come in?’ asked Ratmirov from the other room.
‘Yes ... yes.’
The door opened, and in the doorway appeared the general. He scowled on
seeing Litvinov; however, he bowed to them, that is to say, he bent the
upper portion of his person.
‘I did not know you had a visitor,’ he said: ‘_je vous demande pardon de
mon indiscrétion_. So you still find Baden entertaining,
M’sieu--Litvinov?’
Ratmirov always uttered Litvinov’s surname with hesitation, every time,
as though he had forgotten it, and could not at once recall it.... In
this way, as well as by the lofty flourish of his hat in saluting him,
he meant to insult his pride.
‘I am not bored here, _m’sieu le général_.’
‘Really? Well, I find Baden fearfully boring. We are soon going away,
are we not, Irina Pavlovna? _Assez de Bade comme ça._ By the way, I’ve
won you five hundred francs to-day.’
Irina stretched out her hand coquettishly.
‘Where are they? Please let me have them for pin-money.’
‘You shall have them, you shall have them.... You are going,
M’sieu--Litvinov?’
‘Yes, I am going, as you see.’
Ratmirov again bent his body.
‘Till we meet again!’
‘Good-bye, Grigory Mihalitch,’ said Irina. ‘I will keep my promise.’
‘What is that? May I be inquisitive?’ her husband queried.
Irina smiled.
‘No, it was only ... something we’ve been talking of. _C’est à propos du
voyage ... où il vous plaira._ You know--Stael’s book?’
‘Ah! ah! to be sure, I know. Charming illustrations.’
Ratmirov seemed on the best of terms with his wife; he called her by her
pet name in addressing her.