“Yes, but she didn’t mean anything of the kind.”
“Well, that’s just what I can’t make out: did she say it intentionally or not? Maybe she didn’t really wish to agree so suddenly, but it looked very like it. It turned out horribly. I quiet played the fool,” he added, smiling contemptuously at himself.
“What do you mean? Where have you been?”
The count, omitting his manifold irresolute approaches, related everything as it had happened.
“I spoilt it myself: I ought to have been bolder. She screamed and ran from the window.”
“So she screamed and ran away,” said the cornet, smiling uneasily in answer to the count’s smile, which for such a long time had had so strong an influence over him.
“Yes, but it’s time to go to sleep.”
The cornet again turned his back to the door and lay silent for about ten minutes. Heaven knows what went on in his soul, but when he turned again, his face bore an expression of suffering and resolve.
“Count Turbin!” he said abruptly.
“Are you delirious?” quietly replied the count. “What is it, Cornet Polozov?”
“Count Turbin, you are a scoundrel!” cried Polozov and again jumped out of bed.
XVI
The squadron left next day. The two officers did not see their hosts again and did not bid them farewell. Neither did they speak to one another. They intended to fight a duel at the first halting-place. But Captain Schulz, a good comrade and splendid horseman, beloved by everyone in the regiment and chosen by the count to act as his second, managed to settle the affair so well that not only did they not fight but no one in the regiment knew anything about the matter, and Turbin and Polozov, though no longer on the old friendly footing, still continued to speak in familiar terms to one another and to meet at dinners and card-Parties.
The end
