IX

Masha came with such a bright and grateful face to meet Kister, when he

came into the drawing-room, she pressed his hand so warmly and

affectionately, that his heart throbbed with delight, and a weight

seemed rolled from his mind. Masha did not, however, say a single word,

and she promptly left the room. Sergei Sergeitch was sitting on the

sofa, playing patience. Conversation sprang up. Sergei Sergeitch had not

yet succeeded with his usual skill in bringing the conversation round

from all extraneous topics to his dog, when Masha reappeared, wearing a

plaid silk sash, Kister's favourite sash. Nenila Makarievna came in and

gave Fyodor Fedoritch a friendly greeting. At dinner they were all

laughing and making jokes; even Sergei Sergeitch plucked up spirit and

described one of the merriest pranks of his youthful days, hiding his

head from his wife like an ostrich, as he told the story.

'Let us go for a walk, Fyodor Fedoritch,' Masha said to Kister after

dinner with that note of affectionate authority in her voice which is,

as it were, conscious that you will gladly submit to it. 'I want to talk

to you about something very, very important,' she added with enchanting

solemnity, as she put on her suede gloves. 'Are you coming with us,

_maman_?'

'No,' answered Nenila Makarievna.

'But we are not going into the garden.'

'Where then?'

'To Long Meadow, to the copse.'

'Take Taniusha with you.'

'Taniusha, Taniusha!' Masha cried musically, flitting lightly as a bird

from the room.

A quarter of an hour later Masha walked with Kister into the Long

Meadow. As she passed the cattle, she gave a piece of bread to her

favourite cow, patted it on the head and made Kister stroke it. Masha

was in great good humour and chatted merrily. Kister responded

willingly, though he awaited explanations with impatience.... Taniusha

walked behind at a respectful distance, only from time to time stealing

a sly glance at her young lady.

'You're not angry with me, Fyodor Fedoritch?' queried Masha.

'With you, Marya Sergievna? Why, whatever for?'

'The day before yesterday... don't you remember?'

'You were out of humour... that was all.'

'What are we walking in single file for? Give me your arm. That's

right.... You were out of humour too.'

'Yes, I was too.'

'But to-day I'm in good humour, eh?'

'Yes, I think so, to-day...'

'And do you know why? Because...'

Masha nodded her head gravely. 'Well, I know why.... Because I am with

you,' she added, not looking at Kister.

Kister softly pressed her hand.

'But why don't you question me?...' Masha murmured in an undertone.

'What about?'

'Oh, don't pretend... about my letter.'

'I was waiting for...'

'That's just why I am happy with you,' Masha interrupted him

impulsively: 'because you are a gentle, good-hearted person, because you

are incapable... _parceque vous avez de la délicatesse_. One can

say that to you: you understand French.'

Kister did understand French, but he did not in the least understand

Masha.

'Pick me that flower, that one... how pretty it is!' Masha admired it,

and suddenly, swiftly withdrawing her hand from his arm, with an anxious

smile she began carefully sticking the tender stalk in the buttonhole of

Kister's coat. Her slender fingers almost touched his lips. He looked at

the fingers and then at her. She nodded her head to him as though to say

'you may.'... Kister bent down and kissed the tips of her gloves.

Meanwhile they drew near the already familiar copse. Masha became

suddenly more thoughtful, and at last kept silent altogether. They came

to the very place where Lutchkov had waited for her. The trampled grass

had not yet grown straight again; the broken sapling had not yet

withered, its little leaves were only just beginning to curl up and

fade. Masha stared about her, and turned quickly to Kister.

'Do you know why I have brought you here?'

'No, I don't.'

'Don't you know? Why is it you haven't told me anything about your

friend Lutchkov to-day? You always praise him so...'

Kister dropped his eyes, and did not speak.

'Do you know,' Masha brought out with some effort, 'that I made... an

appointment... to meet him here... yesterday?'

'I know that,' Kister rejoined hurriedly.

'You know it?... Ah! now I see why the day before yesterday... Mr.

Lutchkov was in a hurry it seems to boast of his _conquest_.'

Kister was about to answer....

'Don't speak, don't say anything in opposition.... I know he's your

friend. You are capable of taking his part. You knew, Kister, you

knew.... How was it you didn't prevent me from acting so stupidly? Why

didn't you box my ears, as if I were a child? You knew... and didn't you

care?'

'But what right had I...'

'What right!... the right of a friend. But he too is your friend.... I'm

ashamed, Kister.... He your friend.... That man behaved to me yesterday,

as if...'

Masha turned away. Kister's eyes flamed; he turned pale.

'Oh, never mind, don't be angry.... Listen, Fyodor Fedoritch, don't be

angry. It's all for the best. I am very glad of yesterday's

explanation... yes, that's just what it was,' added Masha. 'What do you

suppose I am telling you about it for? To complain of Mr. Lutchkov?

Nonsense! I've forgotten about him. But I have done you a wrong, my good

friend.... I want to speak openly to you, to ask your forgiveness...

your advice. You have accustomed me to frankness; I am at ease with

you.... You are not a Mr. Lutchkov!'

'Lutchkov is clumsy and coarse,' Kister brought out with difficulty;

'but...'

'Why _but_? Aren't you ashamed to say _but_? He is coarse,

_and_ clumsy, _and_ ill-natured, _and_ conceited.... Do

you hear?--_and_, not _but_.'

'You are speaking under the influence of anger, Marya Sergievna,' Kister

observed mournfully.

'Anger? A strange sort of anger! Look at me; are people like this when

they 're angry? Listen,' pursued Masha; 'you may think what you like of

me... but if you imagine I am flirting with you to-day from pique,

well... well...' (tears stood in her eyes)'I shall be angry in earnest.'

'Do be open with me, Marya Sergievna...'

'O, silly fellow! how slow you are! Why, look at me, am I not open with

you, don't you see right through me?'

'Oh, very well... yes; I believe you,' Kister said with a smile, seeing

with what anxious insistence she tried to catch his eyes. 'But tell me,

what induced you to arrange to meet Lutchkov?'

'What induced me? I really don't know. He wanted to speak to me alone. I

fancied he had never had time, never had an opportunity to speak freely.

He has spoken freely now! Do you know, he may be an extraordinary man,

but he's a fool, really.... He doesn't know how to put two words

together. He's simply an ignoramus. Though, indeed, I don't blame him

much... he might suppose I was a giddy, mad, worthless girl. I hardly

ever talked to him.... He did excite my curiosity, certainly, but I

imagined that a man who was worthy of being your friend...'

'Don't, please, speak of him as my friend,' Kister interposed.

'No, no, I don't want to separate you.'

'Oh, my God, for you I'm ready to sacrifice more than a friend....

Everything is over between me and Mr. Lutchkov,' Kister added hurriedly.

Masha looked intently into his face.

'Well, enough of him,' she said. 'Don't let us talk of him. It's a

lesson to me for the future. It's I that am to blame. For several months

past I have almost every day seen a man who is good, clever, bright,

friendly who...' (Masha was confused, and stammered) 'who, I think,

cared... a little... for me too... and I like a fool,' she went on

quickly, 'preferred to him... no, no, I didn't prefer him, but...'

She drooped her head, and ceased speaking in confusion.

Kister was in a sort of terror. 'It can't be!' he kept repeating to

himself.

'Marya Sergievna!' he began at last.

Masha lifted her head, and turned upon him eyes heavy with unshed tears.

'You don't guess of whom I am speaking?' she asked.

Scarcely daring to breathe, Kister held out his hand. Masha at once

clutched it warmly.

'You are my friend as before, aren't you?... Why don't you answer?'

'I am your friend, you know that,' he murmured.

'And you are not hard on me? You forgive me?... You understand me?

You're not laughing at a girl who made an appointment only yesterday

with one man, and to-day is talking to another, as I am talking to

you.... You're not laughing at me, are you?...' Masha's face glowed

crimson, she clung with both hands to Kister's hand....

'Laugh at you,' answered Kister: 'I... I... why, I love you... I love

you,' he cried.

Masha hid her face.

'Surely you've long known that I love you, Marya Sergievna?'

X

Three weeks after this interview, Kister was sitting alone in his room,

writing the following letter to his mother:--

Dearest Mother!--I make haste to share my great happiness with you; I am

going to get married. This news will probably only surprise you from my

not having, in my previous letters, even hinted at so important a change

in my life--and you know that I am used to sharing all my feelings, my

joys and my sorrows, with you. My reasons for silence are not easy to

explain to you. To begin with, I did not know till lately that I was

loved; and on my own side too, it is only lately that I have realised

myself all the strength of my own feeling. In one of my first letters

from here, I wrote to you of our neighbours, the Perekatovs; I am

engaged to their only daughter, Marya. I am thoroughly convinced that we

shall both be happy. My feeling for her is not a fleeting passion, but a

deep and genuine emotion, in which friendship is mingled with love. Her

bright, gentle disposition is in perfect harmony with my tastes. She is

well-educated, clever, plays the piano splendidly.... If you could only

see her! I enclose her portrait sketched by me. I need hardly say she is

a hundred times better-looking than her portrait. Masha loves you

already, like a daughter, and is eagerly looking forward to seeing you.

I mean to retire, to settle in the country, and to go in for farming.

Mr. Perekatov has a property of four hundred serfs in excellent

condition. You see that even from the material point of view, you cannot

but approve of my plans. I will get leave and come to Moscow and to you.

Expect me in a fortnight, not later. My own dearest mother, how happy I

am!... Kiss me...' and so on.

Kister folded and sealed the letter, got up, went to the window, lighted

a pipe, thought a little, and returned to the table. He took out a small

sheet of notepaper, carefully dipped his pen into the ink, but for a

long while he did not begin to write, knitted his brows, lifted his eyes

to the ceiling, bit the end of his pen.... At last he made up his mind,

and in the course of a quarter of an hour he had composed the following:

'Dear Avdey Ivanovitch,--Since the day of your last visit (that is, for

three weeks) you have sent me no message, have not said a word to me,

and have seemed to avoid meeting me. Every one is, undoubtedly, free to

act as he pleases; you have chosen to break off our acquaintance, and I

do not, believe me, in addressing you intend to reproach you in any way.

It is not my intention or my habit to force myself upon any one

whatever; it is enough for me to feel that I am not to blame in the

matter. I am writing to you now from a feeling of duty. I have made an

offer to Marya Sergievna Perekatov, and have been accepted by her, and

also by her parents. I inform _you_ of this fact--directly and

immediately--to avoid any kind of misapprehension or suspicion. I

frankly confess, sir, that I am unable to feel great concern about the

good opinion of a man who himself shows so little concern for the

opinions and feelings of other people, and I am writing to you solely

because I do not care in this matter even to appear to have acted or to

be acting underhandedly. I make bold to say, you know me, and will not

ascribe my present action to any other lower motive. Addressing you for

the last time, I cannot, for the sake of our old friendship, refrain

from wishing you all good things possible on earth.--I remain,

sincerely, your obedient servant, Fyodor Kister.'

Fyodor Fedoritch despatched this note to the address, changed his

uniform, and ordered his carriage to be got ready. Light-hearted and

happy, he walked up and down his little room humming, even gave two

little skips in the air, twisted a book of songs into a roll, and was

tying it up with blue ribbon.... The door opened, and Lutchkov, in a

coat without epaulettes, with a cap on his head, came into the room.

Kister, astounded, stood still in the middle of the room, without

finishing the bow he was tying.

'So you're marrying the Perekatov girl?' queried Avdey in a calm voice.

Kister fired up.

'Sir,' he began; 'decent people take off their caps and say good-morning

when they come into another man's room.'

'Beg pardon,' the bully jerked out; and he took off his cap.

'Good-morning.'

'Good-morning, Mr. Lutchkov. You ask me if I am about to marry Miss

Perekatov? Haven't you read my letter, then?'

'I have read your letter. You're going to get married. I congratulate

you.'

'I accept your congratulation, and thank you for it. But I must be

starting.'

'I should like to have a few words of explanation with you, Fyodor

Fedoritch.'

'By all means, with pleasure,' responded the good-natured fellow. 'I

must own I was expecting such an explanation. Your behaviour to me has

been so strange, and I think, on my side, I have not deserved... at

least, I had no reason to expect... But won't you sit down? Wouldn't you

like a pipe?'

Lutchkov sat down. There was a certain weariness perceptible in his

movements. He stroked his moustaches and lifted his eyebrows.

'I say, Fyodor Fedoritch,' he began at last; 'why did you keep it up

with me so long?...'

'How do you mean?'

'Why did you pose as such... a disinterested being, when you were just

such another as all the rest of us sinners all the while?'

'I don't understand you.... Can I have wounded you in some way?...'

'You don't understand me... all right. I'll try and speak more plainly.

Just tell me, for instance, openly, Have you had a liking for the

Perekatov girl all along, or is it a case of sudden passion?'

'I should prefer, Avdey Ivanitch, not to discuss with you my relations

with Marya Sergievna,' Kister responded coldly.

'Oh, indeed! As you please. Only you'll kindly allow me to believe that

you've been humbugging me.'

Avdey spoke very deliberately and emphatically.

'You can't believe that, Avdey Ivanitch; you know me.'

'I know you?... who knows you? The heart of another is a dark forest,

and the best side of goods is always turned uppermost. I know you read

German poetry with great feeling and even with tears in your eyes; I

know that you've hung various maps on your walls; I know you keep your

person clean; that I know,... but beyond that, I know nothing...'

Kister began to lose his temper.

'Allow me to inquire,' he asked at last, 'what is the object of your

visit? You have sent no message to me for three weeks, and now you come

to me, apparently with the intention of jeering at me. I am not a boy,

sir, and I do not allow any one...'

'Mercy on us,' Lutchkov interrupted him; 'mercy on us, Fyodor Fedoritch,

who would venture to jeer at you? It's quite the other way; I've come to

you with a most humble request, that is, that you'd do me the favour to

explain your behaviour to me. Allow me to ask you, wasn't it you who

forced me to make the acquaintance of the Perekatov family? Didn't you

assure your humble servant that it would make his soul blossom into

flower? And lastly, didn't you throw me with the virtuous Marya

Sergievna? Why am I not to presume that it's to _you_ I'm indebted

for that final agreeable scene, of which you have doubtless been

informed in befitting fashion? An engaged girl, of course, tells her

betrothed of everything, especially of her _innocent_ indiscretions.

How can I help supposing that it's thanks to you I've been made such a

terrific fool of? You took such a mighty interest in my "blossoming out,"

you know!'

Kister walked up and down the room.

'Look here, Lutchkov,' he said at last; 'if you really--joking

apart--are convinced of what you say, which I confess I don't believe,

then let me tell you, it's shameful and wicked of you to put such an

insulting construction on my conduct and intentions. I don't want to

justify myself... I appeal to your own conscience, to your memory.'

'Yes; I remember you were continually whispering with Marya Sergievna.

Besides that, let me ask you another question: Weren't you at the

Perekatovs' after a certain conversation with me, after that evening

when I like a fool chattered to you, thinking you my greatest friend, of

the meeting she'd arranged?'

'What! you suspect me...'

'I suspect other people of nothing,' Avdey cut him short with cutting

iciness, 'of which I would not suspect myself; but I have the weakness

to suppose that other men are no better than I am.'

'You are mistaken,' Kister retorted emphatically; 'other men are better

than you.'

'I congratulate them upon it,' Lutchkov dropped carelessly; 'but...'

'But remember,' broke in Kister, now in his turn thoroughly infuriated,

'in what terms you spoke of... of that meeting... of... But these

explanations are leading to nothing, I see.... Think what you choose of

me, and act as you think best.'

'Come, that's better,' observed Avdey. 'At last you're beginning to

speak plainly.'

'As you think best,' repeated Kister.

'I understand your position, Fyodor Fedoritch,' Avdey went on with an

affectation of sympathy; 'it's disagreeable, certainly. A man has been

acting, acting a part, and no one has recognised him as a humbug; and

all of a sudden...'

'If I could believe,' Kister interrupted, setting his teeth, 'that it

was wounded love that makes you talk like this, I should feel sorry for

you; I could excuse you.... But in your abuse, in your false charges, I

hear nothing but the shriek of mortified pride... and I feel no sympathy

for you.... You have deserved what you've got.'

'Ugh, mercy on us, how the fellow talks!' Avdey murmured. 'Pride,' he

went on; 'may be; yes, yes, my pride, as you say, has been mortified

intensely and insufferably. But who isn't proud? Aren't you? Yes, I'm

proud, and for instance, I permit no one to feel sorry for me....'

'You don't permit it!' Kister retorted haughtily. 'What an expression,

sir! Don't forget, the tie between us you yourself have broken. I must

beg you to behave with me as with a complete outsider.'

'Broken! Broken the tie between us!' repeated Avdey. 'Understand me; I

have sent you no message, and have not been to see you because I was

sorry for you; you must allow me to be sorry for you, since you 're

sorry for me!... I didn't want to put you in a false position, to make

your conscience prick.... You talk of a tie between us... as though you

could remain my friend as before your marriage! Rubbish! Why, you were

only friendly with me before to gloat over your fancied superiority...'

Avdey's duplicity overwhelmed, confounded Kister.

'Let us end this unpleasant conversation!' he cried at last. 'I must own

I don't see why you've been pleased to come to me.'

'You don't see what I've come to you for?' Avdey asked inquiringly.

'I certainly don't see why.'

'N--o?'

'No, I tell you...'

'Astonishing!... This is astonishing! Who'd have thought it of a fellow

of your intelligence!'

'Come, speak plainly...'

'I have come, Mr. Kister,' said Avdey, slowly rising to his feet, 'I

have come to challenge you to a duel. Do you understand now? I want to

fight you. Ah! you thought you could get rid of me like that! Why,

didn't you know the sort of man you have to do with? As if I'd allow...'

'Very good,' Kister cut in coldly and abruptly. 'I accept your

challenge. Kindly send me your second.'

'Yes, yes,' pursued Avdey, who, like a cat, could not bear to let his

victim go so soon: 'it'll give me great pleasure I'll own to put a

bullet into your fair and idealistic countenance to-morrow.'

'You are abusive after a challenge, it seems,' Kister rejoined

contemptuously. 'Be so good as to go. I'm ashamed of you.'

'Oh, to be sure, _délicatesse_!... Ah, Marya Sergievna, I don't

know French!' growled Avdey, as he put on his cap. 'Till we meet again,

Fyodor Fedoritch!'

He bowed and walked out.

Kister paced several times up and down the room. His face burned, his

breast heaved violently. He felt neither fear nor anger; but it sickened

him to think what this man really was that he had once looked upon as a

friend. The idea of the duel with Lutchkov was almost pleasant to

him.... Once get free from the past, leap over this rock in his path,

and then to float on an untroubled tide... 'Good,' he thought, 'I shall

be fighting to win my happiness.' Masha's image seemed to smile to him,

to promise him success. 'I'm not going to be killed! not I!' he repeated

with a serene smile. On the table lay the letter to his mother.... He

felt a momentary pang at his heart. He resolved any way to defer sending

it off. There was in Kister that quickening of the vital energies of

which a man is aware in face of danger. He calmly thought over all the

possible results of the duel, mentally placed Masha and himself in all

the agonies of misery and parting, and looked forward to the future with

hope. He swore to himself not to kill Lutchkov... He felt irresistibly

drawn to Masha. He paused a second, hurriedly arranged things, and

directly after dinner set off to the Perekatovs. All the evening Kister

was in good spirits, perhaps in too good spirits.

Masha played a great deal on the piano, felt no foreboding of evil, and

flirted charmingly with him. At first her unconsciousness wounded him,

then he took Masha's very unconsciousness as a happy omen, and was

rejoiced and reassured by it. She had grown fonder and fonder of him

every day; happiness was for her a much more urgent need than passion.

Besides, Avdey had turned her from all exaggerated desires, and she

renounced them joyfully and for ever. Nenila Makarievna loved Kister

like a son. Sergei Sergeitch as usual followed his wife's lead.

'Till we meet,' Masha said to Kister, following him into the hall and

gazing at him with a soft smile, as he slowly and tenderly kissed her

hands.

'Till we meet,' Fyodor Fedoritch repeated confidently; 'till we meet.'

But when he had driven half a mile from the Perekatovs' house, he stood

up in the carriage, and with vague uneasiness began looking for the

lighted windows.... All in the house was dark as in the tomb.