After dinner on the second day of Trinity week, Dymov bought some sweets
and some savouries and went down to the villa to see his wife. He had
not seen her for a fortnight, and missed her terribly. As he sat in the
train and afterwards as he looked for his villa in a big wood, he felt
all the while hungry and weary, and dreamed of how he would have supper
in freedom with his wife, then tumble into bed and to sleep. And he
was delighted as he looked at his parcel, in which there was caviare,
cheese, and white salmon.
The sun was setting by the time he found his villa and recognized it.
The old servant told him that her mistress was not at home, but
that most likely she would soon be in. The villa, very uninviting in
appearance, with low ceilings papered with writing-paper and with uneven
floors full of crevices, consisted only of three rooms. In one there was
a bed, in the second there were canvases, brushes, greasy papers, and
men’s overcoats and hats lying about on the chairs and in the windows,
while in the third Dymov found three unknown men; two were dark-haired
and had beards, the other was clean-shaven and fat, apparently an actor.
There was a samovar boiling on the table.
“What do you want?” asked the actor in a bass voice, looking at Dymov
ungraciously. “Do you want Olga Ivanovna? Wait a minute; she will be
here directly.”
Dymov sat down and waited. One of the dark-haired men, looking sleepily
and listlessly at him, poured himself out a glass of tea, and asked:
“Perhaps you would like some tea?”
Dymov was both hungry and thirsty, but he refused tea for fear of
spoiling his supper. Soon he heard footsteps and a familiar laugh;
a door slammed, and Olga Ivanovna ran into the room, wearing a
wide-brimmed hat and carrying a box in her hand; she was followed
by Ryabovsky, rosy and good-humoured, carrying a big umbrella and a
camp-stool.
“Dymov!” cried Olga Ivanovna, and she flushed crimson with pleasure.
“Dymov!” she repeated, laying her head and both arms on his bosom. “Is
that you? Why haven’t you come for so long? Why? Why?”
“When could I, little mother? I am always busy, and whenever I am free
it always happens somehow that the train does not fit.”
“But how glad I am to see you! I have been dreaming about you the whole
night, the whole night, and I was afraid you must be ill. Ah! if you
only knew how sweet you are! You have come in the nick of time! You will
be my salvation! You are the only person who can save me! There is to be
a most original wedding here tomorrow,” she went on, laughing, and tying
her husband’s cravat. “A young telegraph clerk at the station, called
Tchikeldyeev, is going to be married. He is a handsome young man
and--well, not stupid, and you know there is something strong, bearlike
in his face... you might paint him as a young Norman. We summer visitors
take a great interest in him, and have promised to be at his wedding....
He is a lonely, timid man, not well off, and of course it would be a
shame not to be sympathetic to him. Fancy! the wedding will be after
the service; then we shall all walk from the church to the bride’s
lodgings... you see the wood, the birds singing, patches of sunlight on
the grass, and all of us spots of different colours against the
bright green background--very original, in the style of the French
impressionists. But, Dymov, what am I to go to the church in?” said
Olga Ivanovna, and she looked as though she were going to cry. “I have
nothing here, literally nothing! no dress, no flowers, no gloves... you
must save me. Since you have come, fate itself bids you save me. Take
the keys, my precious, go home and get my pink dress from the wardrobe.
You remember it; it hangs in front.... Then, in the storeroom, on the
floor, on the right side, you will see two cardboard boxes. When you
open the top one you will see tulle, heaps of tulle and rags of all
sorts, and under them flowers. Take out all the flowers carefully, try
not to crush them, darling; I will choose among them later.... And buy
me some gloves.”
“Very well,” said Dymov; “I will go tomorrow and send them to you.”
“Tomorrow?” asked Olga Ivanovna, and she looked at him surprised. “You
won’t have time tomorrow. The first train goes tomorrow at nine, and the
wedding’s at eleven. No, darling, it must be today; it absolutely
must be today. If you won’t be able to come tomorrow, send them by a
messenger. Come, you must run along.... The passenger train will be in
directly; don’t miss it, darling.”
“Very well.”
“Oh, how sorry I am to let you go!” said Olga Ivanovna, and tears came
into her eyes. “And why did I promise that telegraph clerk, like a
silly?”
Dymov hurriedly drank a glass of tea, took a cracknel, and, smiling
gently, went to the station. And the caviare, the cheese, and the white
salmon were eaten by the two dark gentlemen and the fat actor.