“Nashchokin was there?” Anna Andreevna suddenly asked weightily and as if in surprise.
“Oh, yes. He seems to be one of those respectable people . . .”
“And Nashchokin spoke with him about this marriage to Bjoring?” Anna Andreevna suddenly became very interested.
“Not about the marriage, but just so, of the possibility, as a rumor; he said there was supposedly such a rumor in society; as for me, I’m sure it’s nonsense.”
Anna Andreevna pondered, and bent over her sewing.
“I like Prince Sergei Petrovich,” I suddenly added warmly. “He has his shortcomings, indisputably, I’ve already told you—namely, a certain one-idea-ness—but his shortcomings also testify to a nobility of soul, isn’t it true? Today, for instance, he and I nearly quarreled over an idea: his conviction that if you speak about nobility, you should be noble yourself, otherwise all you say is a lie. Well, is that logical? And yet it testifies to the lofty demands of honor in his soul, of duty, of justice, isn’t it true? . . . Ah, my God, what time is it?” I suddenly cried, happening to glance at the face of the mantelpiece clock.
“Ten minutes to three,” she said calmly, glancing at the clock. All the while I spoke of the prince, she listened to me, looking down with a sort of sly but sweet smile: she knew why I was praising him so. Liza listened, her head bent over her work, and for some time had not interfered in the conversation.
I jumped up as if burnt.
“Are you late somewhere?”
“Yes . . . no . . . I am late, though, but I’ll go right now. Just one word, Anna Andreevna,” I began excitedly, “I can’t help telling you today! I want to confess to you that I’ve already blessed several times the kindness and delicacy with which you have invited me to visit you . . . Being acquainted with you has made a very strong impression on me. It’s as if here in your room my soul is purified and I go away better than I am. It’s really so. When I sit beside you, I not only can’t speak about bad things, but I can’t even have bad thoughts; they disappear in your presence, and if I remember something bad in your presence, I’m at once ashamed of this bad thing, grow timid, and blush in my soul. And, you know, it was especially pleasing to me to meet my sister here with you today . . . It testifies to such nobility of your . . . to such a beautiful attitude . . . In short, it speaks for something so brotherly, if you will allow me to break this ice, that I . . .”
As I spoke, she was rising from her seat, turning more and more red; but it was as if she was suddenly frightened by something, by some line thatn ought not to have been overleaped, and she quickly interrupted me:
“Believe me, I shall know how to appreciate your feelings with all my heart . . . I understood them without words . . . and already long ago . . .”
She paused in embarrassment, pressing my hand. Suddenly Liza tugged at my sleeve unobserved. I said good-bye and went out; but in the next room Liza caught up with me.
IV
“LIZA, WHY DID you tug at my sleeve?” I asked.
“She’s nasty, she’s cunning, she’s not worth . . . She keeps you in order to worm things out of you,” she whispered in a quick, spiteful whisper. I’d never seen her with such a face before.
“Liza, God help you, she’s such a lovely girl!”
“Well, then I’m nasty.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m very bad. She’s maybe the loveliest of girls, but I’m bad. Enough, drop it. Listen: mama asks you about something ‘that she doesn’t dare speak of,’ as she said. Arkady, darling! Stop gambling, dear, I beseech you . . . mama, too . . .”
“Liza, I know it myself, but . . . I know it’s a pathetic weakness, but . . . it’s only trifles and nothing more! You see, I got into debt, like a fool, and I want to win only so as to pay it back. It’s possible to win, because I played without calculation, off the cuff, like a fool, but now I’ll tremble over each rouble . . . I won’t be myself if I don’t win! I haven’t taken to it; it’s not the main thing, it’s just in passing, I assure you! I’m too strong not to stop when I want to. I’ll pay back the money, and then I’m yours undividedly, and tell mama that I’ll never leave you . . .”
“Those three hundred roubles today cost you something!”
“How do you know?” I gave a start.
“Darya Onisimovna heard everything . . .”
But at that moment Liza suddenly pushed me behind the curtain, and the two of us found ourselves in what’s known as a “lantern,” that is, a round, bay-windowed little room. Before I managed to come to my senses, I heard a familiar voice, the clank of spurs, and guessed at the familiar stride.
“Prince Seryozha,” I whispered.
“Himself,” she whispered.
“Why are you so frightened?”
“I just am. I don’t want him to meet me for anything . . .”
“Tiens, he’s not dangling after you, is he?” I grinned. “He’ll get it from me if he is. Where are you going?”
“Let’s leave. I’ll go with you.”
“Did you say good-bye in there?”
“Yes, my coat’s in the front hall . . .”
We left. On the stairs an idea struck me:
“You know, Liza, he may have come to propose to her!”
“N-no . . . he won’t propose . . .” she said firmly and slowly, in a low voice.
“You don’t know, Liza, I did quarrel with him today—since you’ve already been told of it—but, by God, I love him sincerely and wish him good luck here. We made peace today. When we’re happy, we’re so kind . . . You see, he has many splendid inclinations . . . and humaneness . . . The rudiments at least . . . and in the hands of such a firm and intelligent girl as Miss Versilov, he’d straighten out completely and be happy. It’s too bad I have no time . . . ride with me a little, I could tell you something . . .”
“No, ride alone, I’m not going that way. Will you come for dinner?”
“I’ll come, I’ll come, as promised. Listen, Liza, a certain rotter—in short, the vilest of beings, well, Stebelkov, if you know him—has a terrible influence on his affairs . . . promissory notes . . . well, in short, he’s got him in his hands, and has him so cornered, and he feels so humiliated himself, that the two of them see no other solution than to propose to Anna Andreevna. She really ought to be warned. However, it’s nonsense, she’ll set the whole matter to rights later. But will she refuse him? What do you think?”
“Good-bye, I have no time,” Liza cut me off, and I suddenly saw so much hatred in her fleeting glance that I at once cried out in fright:
“Liza, dear, why that look?”
“It’s not at you; only don’t gamble . . .”
“Ah, you mean gambling! I won’t, I won’t.”
“You just said, ‘when we’re happy’—so you’re very happy?”
“Terribly, Liza, terribly! My God, it’s already three o’clock, and past! . . . Good-bye, Lizok. Lizochka, dear, tell me: can one keep a woman waiting? Is that permissible?”
“At a rendezvous, you mean?” Liza smiled faintly, with some sort of dead, trembling little smile.
“Give me your hand for luck.”
“For luck? My hand? Not for anything!”
And she quickly walked away. And, above all, she had cried out so seriously. I jumped into my sledge.
Yes, yes, and this “happiness” was the main reason why I, like a blind mole, neither understood nor saw anything except myself then!
Chapter Four
I
NOW I’M EVEN afraid to tell about it. It was all long ago; but now, too, it’s like a mirage for me. How could such a woman arrange a rendezvous with such a vile little brat as I was then?—that’s how it was at first sight! When I left Liza and rushed off, my heart pounding, I thought I’d simply lost my mind; the idea of an appointed rendezvous suddenly seemed to me such a glaring absurdity that it was impossible to believe it. And yet I had no doubts at all, even to this extent: the more glaring the absurdity, the more strongly I believed in it.
That it had already struck three worried me: “If I’ve been granted a rendezvous, how can I be late for the rendezvous?” I thought. Stupid questions also flashed, such as, “Which is better for me now—boldness or timidity?” But it all only flashed, because in my heart there was one main thing,
