At Yar's we were shown into a private room; supper was served, champagne
was brought. Viktor related to us, omitting no detail, how he had in a
certain 'gay' house met this officer of the guards, a very nice chap and
of good family, only without a hap'orth of brains; how they had made
friends, how he, the officer that is, had suggested as a joke a game of
'fools' with Viktor with some old cards, for next to nothing, and with
the condition that the officer's winnings should go to the benefit of
Wilhelmina, but Viktor's to his own benefit; how afterwards they had got
on to betting on the games.
'And I, and I,' cried Viktor, and he jumped up and clapped his hands, 'I
hadn't more than six roubles in my pocket all the while. Fancy! And at
first I was completely cleaned out.... A nice position! Only then--in
answer to whose prayers I can't say--fortune smiled. The other fellow
began to get hot and kept showing all his cards.... In no time he'd lost
seven hundred and fifty roubles! He began begging me to go on playing,
but I'm not quite a fool, I fancy; no, one mustn't abuse such luck; I
popped on my hat and cut away. So now I've no need to eat humble pie
with the governor, and can treat my friends.... Hi waiter! Another
bottle! Gentlemen, let's clink glasses!'
We did clink glasses with Viktor, and continued drinking and laughing
with him, though his story was by no means to our liking, nor was his
society a source of any great satisfaction to us either. He began being
very affable, playing the buffoon, unbending, in fact, and was more
loathsome than ever. Viktor noticed at last the impression he was making
on us, and began to get sulky; his remarks became more disconnected and
his looks gloomier. He began yawning, announced that he was sleepy, and
after swearing with his characteristic coarseness at the waiter for a
badly cleaned pipe, he suddenly accosted Fustov, with a challenging
expression on his distorted face.
'I say, Alexander Daviditch,' said he, 'you tell me, if you please, what
do you look down on me for?'
'How so?' My friend was momentarily at a loss for a reply.
'I'll tell you how.... I'm very well aware that you look down on me, and
that person does too' (he pointed at me with his finger), 'so there! As
though you were yourself remarkable for such high and exalted
principles, and weren't just as much a sinner as the rest of us. Worse
even. Still waters... you know the proverb?'
Fustov turned rather red.
'What do you mean by that?' he asked.
'Why, I mean that I'm not blind yet, and I see very clearly everything
that's going on under my nose.... And I have nothing against it: first
it's not my principle to interfere, and secondly, my sister Susanna
Ivanovna hasn't always been so exemplary herself.... Only, why look down
on me?'
'You don't understand what you're babbling there yourself! You're
drunk,' said Fustov, taking his overcoat from the wall. 'He's swindled
some fool of his money, and now he's telling all sorts of lies!'
Viktor continued reclining on the sofa, and merely swung his legs, which
were hanging over its arm.
'Swindled! Why did you drink the wine, then? It was paid for with the
money I won, you know. As for lies, I've no need for lying. It's not my
fault that in her past Susanna Ivanovna...'
'Hold your tongue!' Fustov shouted at him, 'hold your tongue... or...'
'Or what?'
'You'll find out what. Come along, Piotr.'
'Aha!' pursued Viktor; 'our noble-hearted knight takes refuge in flight.
He doesn't care to hear the truth, that's evident! It stings--the truth
does, it seems!'
'Come along, Piotr,' Fustov repeated, completely losing his habitual
coolness and self-possession.
'Let's leave this wretch of a boy!'
'The boy's not afraid of you, do you hear,' Viktor shouted after us, 'he
despises you, the boy does! Do you hear!'
Fustov walked so quickly along the street that I had difficulty in
keeping up with him. All at once he stopped short and turned sharply
back.
'Where are you going?' I asked.
'Oh, I must find out what the idiot.... He's drunk, no doubt, God knows
what.... Only don't you follow me... we shall see each other to-morrow.
Good-bye!'
And hurriedly pressing my hand, Fustov set off towards Yar's hotel.
Next day I missed seeing Fustov; and on the day after that, on going to
his rooms, I learned that he had gone into the country to his uncle's,
near Moscow. I inquired if he had left no note for me, but no note was
forth-coming. Then I asked the servant whether he knew how long
Alexander Daviditch would be away in the country. 'A fortnight, or a
little more, probably,' replied the man. I took at any rate Fustov's
exact address, and sauntered home, meditating deeply. This unexpected
absence from Moscow, in the winter, completed my utter perplexity. My
good aunt observed to me at dinner that I seemed continually expecting
something, and gazed at the cabbage pie as though I were beholding it
for the first time in my life. 'Pierre, vous n'êtes pas amoureux?' she
cried at last, having previously got rid of her companions. But I
reassured her: no, I was not in love.