“Please don’t speak so loud. Though she’s ill she’s quite conscious, and I noticed she started when she saw you. No doubt she remembered yesterday.”
Then I told him about her behaviour and all the peculiarities I had noticed in her. Masloboev was interested in what I told him. I added that perhaps I could place her in a household, and told him briefly about my old friends. To my astonishment he knew something of Natasha’s story, and when I asked him how he had heard of it:
“Oh,” he said, “I heard something about it long ago in connexion with some business. I’ve told you already that I know Prince Valkovsky. That’s a good idea of yours to send her to those old people. She’d only be in your way. And another thing, she wants some sort of a passport. Don’t you worry about that. I’ll undertake it. Good-bye. Come and see me often. Is she asleep now?”
“I think so,” I answered.
But as soon as he had gone Elena called to me.
“Who’s that?” she asked. Her voice shook, but she looked at me with the same intent and haughty expression. I can find no other word for it.
I told her Masloboev’s name, and said that it was by his help I got her away from Mme. Bubnov’s, and that Mme. Bubnov was very much afraid of him. Her cheeks suddenly flushed fiery red, probably at the recollection of the past.
“And she will never come here?” asked Elena, with a searching look at me.
I made haste to reassure her. She remained silent, and was taking my hand in her burning fingers, but she dropped it again at once as though recollecting herself.
“It cannot be that she really feels such an aversion for me,” I thought. “It’s her manner, or else . . . or else the poor little thing has had so much trouble that she mistrusts everyone.”
At the hour fixed I went out to fetch the medicine, and at the same time went into a restaurant where they knew me and gave me credit. I took a pot with me, and brought back some chicken broth for Elena. But she would not eat, and the soup remained for the time on the stove.
I gave her her medicine and sat down to my work. I though she was asleep, but chancing to look round at her I saw that she had raised her head, and was intently watching me write. I pretended not to notice her.
At last she really did fall asleep, and to my great delight she slept quietly without delirium or moaning. I fell into a reverie Natasha, not knowing what was the matter, might well be angry with me for not coming today, would be sure, indeed, I reflected to be hurt at my neglect, just when, perhaps, she needed me most. She might at this moment have special worries, perhaps some service to ask of me, and I was staying away as though expressly.
As for Anna Andreyevna, I was completely at a loss as to how I should excuse myself to her next day. I thought it over and suddenly made up my mind to run round to both of them. I should only be absent about two hours. Elena was asleep and would not hear me go out. I jumped up, took my coat and cap but just as I was going out Elena called me. I was surprised. Could she have been pretending to be asleep?
I may remark in parenthesis that, though Elena made a show of not wanting to speak to me, these rather frequent appeals this desire to apply to me in every difficulty, showed a contrary feeling, and I confess it really pleased me.
“Where do you mean to send me?” she asked when I went up to her.
She generally asked her questions all of a sudden, when I did not expect them. This time I did not take in her meaning at first.
“You were telling your friend just now that you meant to place me in some household. I don’t want to go.”
I bent down to her; she was hot all over, another attack of fever had come on. I began trying to soothe and pacify her assuring her that if she cared to remain with me I would not send her away anywhere. Saying this, I took off my coat and cap I could not bring
myself to leave her alone in such a condition.
“No, go,” she said, realizing at once that I was meaning to stay. “I’m sleepy; I shall go to sleep directly.”
“But how will you get on alone?” I said, uncertainly. “Though I’d be sure to be back in two hours’ time . . . .”
“Well, go then. Suppose I’m ill for a whole year, you can’t stay at home all the time.”
And she tried to smile, and looked strangely at me as though struggling with some kindly feeling stirring in her heart. Poor little thing! Her gentle, tender heart showed itself in glimpses in spite of her aloofness and evident mistrust.
First I ran round to Anna Andreyevna. She was waiting for me with feverish impatience and she greeted me with reproaches; she was in terrible anxiety. Nikolay Sergeyitch had gone out immediately after dinner, and she did not know where. I had a presentiment that she had not been able to resist telling him everything in hints, of course, as she always did. She practically admitted it herself, telling me that she could not resist sharing such joyful tidings with him, but that Nikolay Sergeyitch had become, to use her expression, “blacker than night, that he had said