My mother next day announced her intention of returning to the town. In
the morning my father had gone into her bedroom, and stayed there a
long while alone with her. No one had overheard what he said to her;
but my mother wept no more; she regained her composure, and asked for
food, but did not make her appearance nor change her plans. I remember
I wandered about the whole day, but did not go into the garden, and
never once glanced at the lodge, and in the evening I was the spectator
of an amazing occurrence: my father conducted Count Malevsky by the arm
through the dining-room into the hall, and, in the presence of a
footman, said icily to him: “A few days ago your excellency was shown
the door in our house; and now I am not going to enter into any kind of
explanation with you, but I have the honour to announce to you that if
you ever visit me again, I shall throw you out of window. I don’t like
your handwriting.” The count bowed, bit his lips, shrank away, and
vanished.
Preparations were beginning for our removal to town, to Arbaty Street,
where we had a house. My father himself probably no longer cared to
remain at the country house; but clearly he had succeeded in persuading
my mother not to make a public scandal. Everything was done quietly,
without hurry; my mother even sent her compliments to the old princess,
and expressed her regret that she was prevented by indisposition from
seeing her again before her departure. I wandered about like one
possessed, and only longed for one thing, for it all to be over as soon
as possible. One thought I could not get out of my head: how could she,
a young girl, and a princess too, after all, bring herself to such a
step, knowing that my father was not a free man, and having an
opportunity of marrying, for instance, Byelovzorov? What did she hope
for? How was it she was not afraid of ruining her whole future? Yes, I
thought, this is love, this is passion, this is devotion … and Lushin’s
words came back to me: to sacrifice oneself for some people is sweet. I
chanced somehow to catch sight of something white in one of the windows
of the lodge…. “Can it be Zinaïda’s face?” I thought … yes, it really
was her face. I could not restrain myself. I could not part from her
without saying a last good-bye to her. I seized a favourable instant,
and went into the lodge.
In the drawing-room the old princess met me with her usual slovenly and
careless greetings.
“How’s this, my good man, your folks are off in such a hurry?” she
observed, thrusting snuff into her nose. I looked at her, and a load
was taken off my heart. The word “loan,” dropped by Philip, had been
torturing me. She had no suspicion … at least I thought so then.
Zinaïda came in from the next room, pale, and dressed in black, with
her hair hanging loose; she took me by the hand without a word, and
drew me away with her.
“I heard your voice,” she began, “and came out at once. Is it so easy
for you to leave us, bad boy?”
“I have come to say good-bye to you, princess,” I answered, “probably
for ever. You have heard, perhaps, we are going away.”
Zinaïda looked intently at me.
“Yes, I have heard. Thanks for coming. I was beginning to think I
should not see you again. Don’t remember evil against me. I have
sometimes tormented you, but all the same I am not what you imagine
me.” She turned away, and leaned against the window.
“Really, I am not like that. I know you have a bad opinion of me.”
“I?”
“Yes, you … you.”
“I?” I repeated mournfully, and my heart throbbed as of old under the
influence of her overpowering, indescribable fascination. “I? Believe
me, Zinaïda Alexandrovna, whatever you did, however you tormented me, I
should love and adore you to the end of my days.”
She turned with a rapid motion to me, and flinging wide her arms,
embraced my head, and gave me a warm and passionate kiss. God knows
whom that long farewell kiss was seeking, but I eagerly tasted its
sweetness. I knew that it would never be repeated. “Good-bye,
good-bye,” I kept saying …
She tore herself away, and went out. And I went away. I cannot describe
the emotion with which I went away. I should not wish it ever to come
again; but I should think myself unfortunate had I never experienced
such an emotion.
We went back to town. I did not quickly shake off the past; I did not
quickly get to work. My wound slowly began to heal; but I had no
ill-feeling against my father. On the contrary he had, as it were,
gained in my eyes … let psychologists explain the contradiction as best
they can. One day I was walking along a boulevard, and to my
indescribable delight, I came across Lushin. I liked him for his
straightforward and unaffected character, and besides he was dear to me
for the sake of the memories he aroused in me. I rushed up to him.
“Aha!” he said, knitting his brows,” so it’s you, young man. Let me
have a look at you. You’re still as yellow as ever, but yet there’s not
the same nonsense in your eyes. You look like a man, not a lap-dog.
That’s good. Well, what are you doing? working?”
I gave a sigh. I did not like to tell a lie, while I was ashamed to
tell the truth.
“Well, never mind,” Lushin went on, “don’t be shy. The great thing is
to lead a normal life, and not be the slave of your passions. What do
you get if not? Wherever you are carried by the tide—it’s all a bad
look-out; a man must stand on his own feet, if he can get nothing but a
rock to stand on. Here, I’ve got a cough … and Byelovzorov—have you
heard anything of him?”
“No. What is it?”
“He’s lost, and no news of him; they say he’s gone away to the
Caucasus. A lesson to you, young man. And it’s all from not knowing how
to part in time, to break out of the net. You seem to have got off very
well. Mind you don’t fall into the same snare again. Good-bye.”
“I shan’t,” I thought…. “I shan’t see her again.” But I was destined to
see Zinaïda once more.