Zinaida Fyodorovna still walked about the room in her excitement. That
she was walking about and not still lying down was so much to the good.
I wanted to take advantage of this mood to speak to her openly and then
to go away, but I had hardly seen Gruzin out when I heard a ring. It was
Kukushkin.
"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he said. "Has he come back? You say no?
What a pity! In that case, I'll go in and kiss your mistress's hand, and
so away. Zinaida Fyodorovna, may I come in?" he cried. "I want to kiss
your hand. Excuse my being so late."
He was not long in the drawing-room, not more than ten minutes, but I
felt as though he were staying a long while and would never go away. I
bit my lips from indignation and annoyance, and already hated Zinaida
Fyodorovna. "Why does she not turn him out?" I thought indignantly,
though it was evident that she was bored by his company.
When I held his fur coat for him he asked me, as a mark of special
good-will, how I managed to get on without a wife.
"But I don't suppose you waste your time," he said, laughingly. "I've no
doubt Polya and you are as thick as thieves.... You rascal!"
In spite of my experience of life, I knew very little of mankind at that
time, and it is very likely that I often exaggerated what was of little
consequence and failed to observe what was important. It seemed to me it
was not without motive that Kukushkin tittered and flattered me. Could
it be that he was hoping that I, like a flunkey, would gossip in other
kitchens and servants' quarters of his coming to see us in the evenings
when Orlov was away, and staying with Zinaida Fyodorovna till late at
night? And when my tittle-tattle came to the ears of his acquaintance,
he would drop his eyes in confusion and shake his little finger. And
would not he, I thought, looking at his little honeyed face, this very
evening at cards pretend and perhaps declare that he had already won
Zinaida Fyodorovna from Orlov?
That hatred which failed me at midday when the old father had come, took
possession of me now. Kukushkin went away at last, and as I listened to
the shuffle of his leather goloshes, I felt greatly tempted to fling
after him, as a parting shot, some coarse word of abuse, but I
restrained myself. And when the steps had died away on the stairs, I
went back to the hall, and, hardly conscious of what I was doing, took
up the roll of papers that Gruzin had left behind, and ran headlong
downstairs. Without cap or overcoat, I ran down into the street. It was
not cold, but big flakes of snow were falling and it was windy.
"Your Excellency!" I cried, catching up Kukushkin. "Your Excellency!"
He stopped under a lamp-post and looked round with surprise. "Your
Excellency!" I said breathless, "your Excellency!"
And not able to think of anything to say, I hit him two or three times
on the face with the roll of paper. Completely at a loss, and hardly
wondering--I had so completely taken him by surprise--he leaned his back
against the lamp-post and put up his hands to protect his face. At that
moment an army doctor passed, and saw how I was beating the man, but he
merely looked at us in astonishment and went on. I felt ashamed and I
ran back to the house.