Mashenka interrupted him. 'You've not long been transferred into our
regiment, I think?'
'Into your regiment,' observed Kister, with a smile: 'no, not long.'
'Aren't you dull here?'
'Oh no... I find such delightful society here... and the scenery!'...
Kister launched into eulogies of the scenery. Masha listened to him,
without raising her head. Avdey Ivanovitch was standing in a corner,
looking indifferently at the dancers.
'How old is Mr. Lutchkov?' she asked suddenly.
'Oh... thirty-five, I fancy,' answered Kister.
'They say he's a dangerous man... hot-tempered,' Masha added hurriedly.
'He is a little hasty... but still, he's a very fine man.'
'They say every one's afraid of him.'
Kister laughed.
'And you?'
'I'm a friend of his.'
'Really?'
'Your turn, your turn,' was shrieked at them from all sides. They
started and began galloping again right across the room.
'Well, I congratulate you,' Kister said to Lutchkov, going up to him
after the dance; 'the daughter of the house does nothing but ask
questions about you.'
'Really?' Lutchkov responded scornfully.
'On my honour! And you know she's extremely nice-looking; only look at
her.'
'Which of them is she?'
Kister pointed out Masha.
'Ah, not bad.' And Lutchkov yawned.
'Cold-hearted person!' cried Kister, and he ran off to ask another girl
to dance.
Avdey Ivanovitch was extremely delighted at the fact Kister had
mentioned to him, though he did yawn, and even yawned loudly. To arouse
curiosity flattered his vanity intensely: love he despised--in
words--but inwardly he was himself aware that it would be a hard and
difficult task for him to win love.... A hard and difficult task for him
to win love, but easy and simple enough to wear a mask of indifference,
of silent haughtiness. Avdey Ivanovitch was unattractive and no longer
young; but on the other hand he enjoyed a terrible reputation--and
consequently he had every right to pose. He was used to the bitter,
unspoken enjoyment of grim loneliness. It was not the first time he had
attracted the attention of women; some had even tried to get upon more
friendly terms with him, but he repelled their advances with exasperated
obstinacy; he knew that sentiment was not in his line (during tender
interviews, avowals, he first became awkward and vulgar, and, through
anger, rude to the point of grossness, of insult); he remembered that
the two or three women with whom he had at different times been on a
friendly footing had rapidly grown cool to him after the first moment of
closer intimacy, and had of their own impulse made haste to get away
from him... and so he had at last schooled himself to remain an enigma,
and to scorn what destiny had denied him.... This is, I fancy, the only
sort of scorn people in general do feel. No sort of frank, spontaneous,
that is to say good, demonstration of passion suited Lutchkov; he was
bound to keep a continual check on himself, even when he was angry.
Kister was the only person who was not disgusted when Lutchkov broke
into laughter; the kind-hearted German's eyes shone with the generous
delight of sympathy, when he read Avdey his favourite passages from
Schiller, while the bully would sit facing him with lowering looks, like
a wolf.... Kister danced till he was worn out, Lutchkov never left his
corner, scowled, glanced stealthily at Masha, and meeting her eyes, at
once threw an expression of indifference into his own. Masha danced
three times with Kister. The enthusiastic youth inspired her with
confidence. She chatted with him gaily enough, but at heart she was not
at ease. Lutchkov engrossed her thoughts.
A mazurka tune struck up. The officers fell to bounding up and down,
tapping with their heels, and tossing the epaulettes on their shoulders;
the civilians tapped with their heels too. Lutchkov still did not stir
from his place, and slowly followed the couples with his eyes, as they
whirled by. Some one touched his sleeve... he looked round; his
neighbour pointed him out Masha. She was standing before him with
downcast eyes, holding out her hand to him. Lutchkov for the first
moment gazed at her in perplexity, then he carelessly took off his
sword, threw his hat on the floor, picked his way awkwardly among the
arm-chairs, took Masha by the hand, and went round the circle, with no
capering up and down nor stamping, as it were unwillingly performing an
unpleasant duty.... Masha's heart beat violently.
'Why don't you dance?' she asked him at last.
'I don't care for it,' answered Lutchkov.
'Where's your place?'
'Over there.'
Lutchkov conducted Masha to her chair, coolly bowed to her and coolly
returned to his corner... but there was an agreeable stirring of the
spleen within him.
Kister asked Masha for a dance.
'What a strange person your friend is!'
'He does interest you...' said Fyodor Fedoritch, with a sly twinkle of
his blue and kindly eyes.
'Yes... he must be very unhappy.'
'He unhappy? What makes you suppose so?' And Fyodor Fedoritch laughed.
'You don't know... you don't know...' Masha solemnly shook her head with
an important air.
'Me not know? How's that?'...
Masha shook her head again and glanced towards Lutchkov. Avdey
Ivanovitch noticed the glance, shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly,
and walked away into the other room.