VI

Kister had already gone to bed when Lutchkov came into his room. The

bully's face never expressed _one_ feeling; so it was now: feigned

indifference, coarse delight, consciousness of his own superiority... a

number of different emotions were playing over his features.

'Well, how was it? how was it?' Kister made haste to question him.

'Oh! I went. They sent you greetings.'

'Well? Are they all well?'

'Of course, why not?'

'Did they ask why I didn't come?'

'Yes, I think so.'

Lutchkov stared at the ceiling and hummed out of tune. Kister looked

down and mused.

'But, look here,' Lutchkov brought out in a husky, jarring voice,

'you're a clever fellow, I dare say, you're a cultured fellow, but

you're a good bit out in your ideas sometimes for all that, if I may

venture to say so.'

'How do you mean?'

'Why, look here. About women, for instance. How you're always cracking

them up! You're never tired of singing their praises! To listen to you,

they're all angels.... Nice sort of angels!'

'I like and respect women, but------'

'Oh, of course, of course,' Avdey cut him short. 'I am not going to

argue with you. That's quite beyond me! I'm a plain man.'

'I was going to say that... But why just to-day... just now,... are you

talking about women?'

'Oh, nothing!' Avdey smiled with great meaning. 'Nothing!'

Kister looked searchingly at his friend. He imagined (simple heart!)

that Masha had been treating him badly; had been torturing him, perhaps,

as only women can....

'You are feeling hurt, my poor Avdey; tell me...'

Lutchkov went off into a chuckle.

'Oh, well, I don't fancy I've much to feel hurt about,' he said, in a

drawling tone, complacently stroking his moustaches. 'No, only, look

here, Fedya,' he went on with the manner of a preceptor, 'I was only

going to point out that you're altogether out of it about women, my lad.

You believe me, Fedya, they 're all alike. One's only got to take a

little trouble, hang about them a bit, and you've got things in your own

hands. Look at Masha Perekatov now....'

'Oh!'

Lutchkov tapped his foot on the floor and shook his head.

'Is there anything so specially attractive about me, hey? I shouldn't

have thought there was anything. There isn't anything, is there? And

here, I've a clandestine appointment for to-morrow.'

Kister sat up, leaned on his elbow, and stared in amazement at Lutchkov.

'For the evening, in a wood...' Avdey Ivanovitch continued serenely.

'Only don't you go and imagine it means much. It's only a bit of fun.

It's slow here, don't you know. A pretty little girl,... well, says I,

why not? Marriage, of course, I'm not going in for... but there, I like

to recall my young days. I don't care for hanging about petticoats--but

I may as well humour the baggage. We can listen to the nightingales

together. Of course, it's really more in your line; but the wench has no

eyes, you see. I should have thought I wasn't worth looking at beside

you.'

Lutchkov talked on a long while. But Kister did not hear him. His head

was going round. He turned pale and passed his hand over his face.

Lutchkov swayed up and down in his low chair, screwed up his eyes,

stretched, and putting down Kister's emotion to jealousy, was almost

gasping with delight. But it was not jealousy that was torturing Kister;

he was wounded, not by the fact itself, but by Avdey's coarse

carelessness, his indifferent and contemptuous references to Masha. He

was still staring intently at the bully, and it seemed as if for the

first time he was thoroughly seeing his face. So this it was he had been

scheming for! This for which he had sacrificed his own inclinations!

Here it was, the blessed influence of love.

'Avdey... do you mean to say you don't care for her?' he muttered at

last.

'O innocence! O Arcadia!' responded Avdey, with a malignant chuckle.

Kister in the goodness of his heart did not give in even then; perhaps,

thought he, Avdey is in a bad temper and is 'humbugging' from old

habit... he has not yet found a new language to express new feelings.

And was there not in himself some other feeling lurking under his

indignation? Did not Lutchkov's avowal strike him so unpleasantly simply

because it concerned Masha? How could one tell, perhaps Lutchkov really

was in love with her.... Oh, no! no! a thousand times no! That man in

love?... That man was loathsome with his bilious, yellow face, his

nervous, cat-like movements, crowing with conceit... loathsome! No, not

in such words would Kister have uttered to a devoted friend the secret

of his love.... In overflowing happiness, in dumb rapture, with bright,

blissful tears in his eyes would he have flung himself on his bosom....

'Well, old man,' queried Avdey, 'own up now you didn't expect it, and

now you feel put out. Eh? jealous? Own up, Fedya. Eh? eh?'

Kister was about to speak out, but he turned with his face to the wall.

'Speak openly... to him? Not for anything!' he whispered to himself. 'He

wouldn't understand me... so be it! He supposes none but evil feelings

in me--so be it!...'

Avdey got up.

'I see you're sleepy,' he said with assumed sympathy: 'I don't want to

be in your way. Pleasant dreams, my boy... pleasant dreams!'

And Lutchkov went away, very well satisfied with himself.

Kister could not get to sleep before the morning. With feverish

persistence he turned over and over and thought over and over the same

single idea--an occupation only too well known to unhappy lovers.

'Even if Lutchkov doesn't care for her,' he mused, 'if she has flung

herself at his head, anyway he ought not even with me, with his friend,

to speak so disrespectfully, so offensively of her! In what way is she

to blame? How could any one have no feeling for a poor, inexperienced

girl?

'But can she really have a secret appointment with him? She has--yes,

she certainly has. Avdey's not a liar, he never tells a lie. But perhaps

it means nothing, a mere freak....

'But she does not know him.... He is capable, I dare say, of insulting

her. After to-day, I wouldn't answer for anything.... And wasn't it I

myself that praised him up and exalted him? Wasn't it I who excited her

curiosity?... But who could have known this? Who could have foreseen

it?...

'Foreseen what? Has he so long ceased to be my friend?... But, after

all, was he ever my friend? What a disenchantment! What a lesson!'

All the past turned round and round before Kister's eyes. 'Yes, I did

like him,' he whispered at last. 'Why has my liking cooled so

suddenly?... And do I dislike him? No, why did I ever like him? I

alone?'

Kister's loving heart had attached itself to Avdey for the very reason

that all the rest avoided him. But the good-hearted youth did not know

himself how great his good-heartedness was.

'My duty,' he went on, 'is to warn Marya Sergievna. But how? What right

have I to interfere in other people's affairs, in other people's love?

How do I know the nature of that love? Perhaps even in Lutchkov.... No,

no!' he said aloud, with irritation, almost with tears, smoothing out

his pillow, 'that man's stone....

'It is my own fault... I have lost a friend.... A precious friend,

indeed! And she's not worth much either!... What a sickening egoist I

am! No, no! from the bottom of my soul I wish them happiness....

Happiness! but he is laughing at her!... And why does he dye his

moustaches? I do, really, believe he does.... Ah, how ridiculous I am!'

he repeated, as he fell asleep.