The old butler made a great ado in the house at the approach of the
New Year. In preparation for a great ball, he cleared the inlaid
floors, spread carpets, filled the lamps; placed new candles here and
there; took the silver and the dinner-services out of their chests,
and procured all the requisites for fortune-telling. By New Year's
Eve the house was in order, the stately rooms glittering with lights,
and uniformed village-lads stood by the doors.
Kseniya Ippolytovna awoke late on that day and did not get up, lying
without stirring in bed until dinner time, her hands behind her head.
It was a clear, bright day and the sun's golden rays streamed in
through the windows, and were reflected on the polished floor,
casting wavy shadows over the dark heavy tapestry on the walls.
Outside was the cold blue glare of the snow, which was marked with
the imprints of birds' feet, and a vast stretch of clear turquoise
sky.
The bedroom was large and gloomy; the polished floor was covered with
rugs; a canopied double bedstead stood against the further wall; a
large wardrobe was placed in a corner.
Kseniya Ippolytovna looked haggard and unhappy. She took a bath
before dinner; then had her meal--alone, in solitary state, drowsing
lingeringly over it with a book.
Crows, the birds of destruction, were cawing and gossiping outside in
the park. At dusk the fragile new moon rose for a brief while. The
frosty night was crisp and sparkling. The stars shone diamond-bright
in the vast, all-embracing vault of blue; the snow was a soft,
velvety green.
Polunin arrived early. Kseniya Ippolytovna greeted him in the
drawing-room. A bright fire burnt on the hearth; beside it were two
deep armchairs. No lamps were alight, but the fire-flames cast warm,
orange reflections; the round-topped windows seemed silvery in the
hoar-frost.
Kseniya Ippolytovna wore a dark evening dress and had plaited her
hair; she shook hands with Polunin.
"I am feeling sad to-day, Polunin," she said in a melancholy voice.
They sat down in the armchairs.
"I expected you at five. It is now six. But you are always churlish
and inconsiderate towards women. You haven't once wanted to be alone
with me--or guessed that I desired it!" She spoke calmly, rather
coldly, gazing obstinately into the fire, her cheeks cupped between
her narrow palms. "You are so very silent, a perfect diplomat....
What is it like in the fields to-day? Cold? Warm? Tea will be served
in a moment."
There was a pause.
At last Polunin broke the silence.
"Yes, it was bitterly cold, but fine." After a further pause he
added: "When we last talked together you did not say all that was in
your mind. Say it now."
Kseniya Ippolytovna laughed:
"I have already said everything! Isn't it cold? I have not been out
to-day. I have been thinking about Paris and of that ... that
June.... Tea should be ready by this time!"
She rose and rung the bell, and the old butler came in.
"Will tea be long?"
"I will bring it now, Barina."
He went out and returned with a tray on which were two glasses of
tea, a decanter of rum, some pastries, figs, and honey, and laid them
on the little table beside the armchairs.
"Will you have the lamps lighted, Barina?" he inquired, respectfully.
"No. You may go. Close the door."
The old butler looked at them knowingly; then withdrew.
Kseniya turned at once to Polunin.
"I have told you everything. How is it you have not understood? Drink
up your tea."
"Tell me again," he pleaded.
"Take your tea first; pour out the rum. I repeat I have already told
you all. You remember about the mice? Did you not understand that?"
Kseniya Ippolytovna sat erect in her chair; she spoke coldly, in the
same distant tone in which she had addressed the butler.