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But Adouev kept expecting all the while that the Count would go, and that at last he would have a chance of speaking to her mother. But ten o'clock, eleven struck, the Count did not go, and kept talking.

All the subjects upon which conversation usually turns at the first stage of an acquaintanceship were exhausted. The Count began to make jokes. He did this cleverly; his jokes were not forced, affected, nor far-fetched; he had a power of interesting, a special aptitude for telling things humorously, so that not anecdotes only, but simply a piece of new?, an incident, or a serious matter he would turn into comedy by a single unexpected word.

Both mother and daughter were heartily diverted by his sallies, and Alexandr himself hid more than once an involuntary smile behind his book. But he was raging inwardly.

The Count talked of everything equally well and with tact—of music, of people, and of foreign countries. The

conversation turned on men and women; the Count was severe on men, himself among them, and subtly flattered women in general, paying a few compliments to the ladies of the house in particular.

Adouev thought of his literary pursuits, of his poetry. " There I should put him to shame," he thought. They began to converse upon literature; the mother and daughter commended Alexandr as an author.

" That'll take him down!" thought Adouev.

Far from it. The Count talked of literature as though he were exclusively devoted to the subject; he made a few just criticisms in passing on contemporary Russian and French writers of note. Further it appeared that he was on terms of friendship with the leading Russian literary men, and in Paris had been acquainted with several French celebrities also. A few he commented upon with appreciation, others he slightly caricatured.

Of Alexandra verses he remarked that he did not know them, and had not heard of them.

Nadinka looked rather queerly at Adouev as though inquiring: " What does that mean, pray ? You have not done much."

Alexandr's heart fell. His churlish and arrogant expression gave way to one of melancholy. He looked like a cock with bedraggled tail hiding from the storm under a shed.

Presently there was a clinking of knives and glasses on the sideboard, the table was set, but still the Count did not go. All hope vanished. He even accepted Madame Lubetzky's invitation to stay and have a supper of curds.

" A Count, and eat curds!" said Adouev, casting a glance of hatred on the Count.

The Count ate with appetite and continued to make jokes, as though he were at home.

" The first time he's in the house and eating enough for three, he's shameless! " whispered Alexandr to Nadinka.

" Why, he's hungry I " she answered simply.

The Count at last went away, but it was too late to talk of things then. Adouev took his hat and was hurrying off. Nadinka overtook him, and succeeded in pacifying him.

" Then to-morrow?" asked Alexandr.

" To-morrow we shan't be at home."

" Well, the day after to-morrow then."

They parted.

The next time Alexandr arrived rather earlier. While still in the garden an unaccustomed sound reached him from indoors—a violoncello—no, not a violoncello. He drew nearer. A manly voice was singing—and what a voice! Sonorous, tender, a voice that one would think would penetrate a woman's heart. It penetrated Adouev's heart, but in a different way; it grew faint, it ached with anguish, envy, hatred, and a miserable undefined presentiment. Alexandr went from the courtyard into the hall.

" Who have you here ? " he asked the servant.

" Count Novinsky."

" Has he been here long?"

" Since six o'clock."

" Tell your young lady that I have been and will come back again."

u Very well."

Alexandr went away and went wandering about the villas, not noticing where he was going. In two hours he returned.

" Well, is he still here?" he asked.

" Yes, and I think he will stay to supper. The mistress ordered roast woodcocks for supper."

" And did you give the young lady my message ? "

" Yes."

" Well, what did she say ? "

" She gave me no orders."

Alexandr went home and did not appear for two days. God knows what revolutions of thought and feeling he went through ; at last he went again.

He came in sight of the villa, stood up in the boat and, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand, looked before him. Yonder between the trees he caught a glimpse of the blue dress which fitted Nadinka so well; and blue was the colour most becoming to her complexion. She always put on this dress when she wanted to please Alexandr specially. A load seemed lifted from his heart.

" Ah ! she wants to make up to me for her past unintentional neglect," he thought; " it's not she, but I who am to blame ; how could I behave so unforgivingly to her ? that's only the way to set her against one; a stranger, a new

acquaintance; it's very natural that she as hostess "

J^Ah. ! here she comes out of the bushes from the narrow footpath, she is going to the trellis, there she will take her stand and wait for. . . ."

She did in fact go on into the great avenue .... but who is turning with her from the path ?

" The Count!" Alexandr cried aloud in dismay, hardly believing his eyes.

" Eh ? " ejaculated one of the boatmen.

" Alone in the garden with him,* muttered Alexandr— " just as with me."

The Count and Nadinka walked up to the trellis, and not looking at the river, turned round and walked slowly back to the avenue. He was bending over her, saying something in a low voice. She hung her head as she walked.

Adouev remained in the boat, open-mouthed, motionless, stretching out his hands to the shore, then he let them drop and sank into his seat. The boatmen went on rowing.

" Where are you going? " Adouev screamed furiously at them, when he had recovered a little. " Back again."

" Go back ? " repeated one of them, gazing at him open-mouthed.

" Yes, back; are you deaf? "

" But don't you want to go this way ? "

The other boatman began at once without speaking to row with his left oar alone, then pulled vigorously with both, and the boat was quickly darting along homewards. Alexandr pulled his hat down almost on to his shoulders and sank into gloomy meditation.

After this he did not go to the Lubetzky's for a fortnight.

A whole fortnight: what an age for a lover! But he kept expecting that they would send a servant to inquire what was the matter with him, whether he was ill, as this had always been done when he had been unwell, or perhaps had affected to be so. Nadinka at first would make such inquiries in her mother's name for form's sake, but afterwards, what did she not write on her own account ? Such tender reproaches, such fond anxiety! such impatience!

"No, now I will not make it up at once," thought Alexandr: •' I will punish her. I will teach her how she

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108 A COMMON STORY

ought to behave with strange men; the reconciliation shall not come too easily ! "

And he pondered harsh plans of revenge, dreamed of repentance, of how he would magnanimously pardon and lay down principles for the future. But till no servant was sent to him, no confession was brought; it seemed as though he no longer existed for the Lubetzkys.

He grew thin and white. Jealousy is more agonising than any disfinyy, espULlilliy^ealousy on suspicion without proof. When the proof is plain, then jealousy is at an end, and, for the most part, love itself as well; then at least one knows what to do, but until then it is torture ! And Alexandr experienced it to the full.

At last he resolved to go in the morning, thinking he would find Nadinka alone and have an explanation with her.

He arrived. There was no one in the garden, no one in the drawing-room and the parlour. He went into the hall, opened the door into the court-yard.