"I am happy now..."
"Does auntie offend you?" she went on without listening, "that same wicked, unjust, and eternally priceless auntie of ours! And do you remember how you used to throw yourself into my arms in the garden, and I'd comfort you and weep—don't be afraid of Mavriky Nikolaevich; he has known everything about you, everything, for a long time; you can weep on his shoulder as much as you like, and he'll stand there as long as you like! ... Lift your hat, take it all the way off for a moment, raise your head, stand on tiptoe, I'm going to kiss you on the forehead now, as I kissed you that last time, when we were saying good-bye. See, that young lady is admiring us through the window... Well, closer, closer. God, how gray he's become!"
And, leaning down from her saddle, she kissed him on the forehead.
"Well, now to your house! I know where you live. I'll join you presently, in a moment. I'll pay you the first visit, you stubborn man, and then I'll drag you to our place for the whole day. Go, now, get ready to receive me."
And she rode off with her cavalier. We came back. Stepan Trofimovich sat down on the sofa and wept.
"Dieu! Dieu!" he kept exclaiming, "enfin une minute de bonheur!"[l]
Not more than ten minutes later she appeared as promised, accompanied by her Mavriky Nikolaevich.
"Vous et le bonheur, vous arrivez en même temps!"[li] He rose to meet her.
"Here is a bouquet for you; I've just been to Madame Chevalier's, she'll have bouquets for birthday parties all winter. Here is Mavriky Nikolaevich as well, please become acquainted. I almost wanted to get a cake instead of a bouquet, but Mavriky Nikolaevich insists that it's not the Russian spirit."
This Mavriky Nikolaevich was an artillery captain, about thirty-three years old, a tall gentleman, of handsome and impeccably decent appearance, with an imposing and, at first glance, even stern physiognomy, in spite of his remarkable and most delicate kindness, of which everyone became aware almost from the moment of making his acquaintance. However, he was taciturn, appeared rather cool, and did not force his friendship upon anyone. Many in our town said afterwards that he was none too bright; that was not quite correct.
I will not describe the beauty of Lizaveta Nikolaevna. The whole town was already shouting about her beauty, though some of our ladies and young girls indignantly disagreed with the shouters. There were some among them who already hated Lizaveta Nikolaevna, in the first place for her pride: the Drozdovs had hardly even begun to pay any visits, which was insulting, though in fact the cause of the delay was Praskovya Ivanovna's ailing condition. In the second place, she was hated because she was a relative of the governor's wife; and in the third place, because she went for daily outings on horseback. There had never been any horsewomen in our town before; it was natural that the appearance of Lizaveta Nikolaevna, going for her outings on horseback without having paid any visits, was bound to insult society. Incidentally, everyone knew already that she went riding on doctor's orders, and spoke caustically of her poor health. She was indeed ill. One thing that was obvious about her from the first glance was her morbid, nervous, unceasing restlessness. Alas! the poor girl was suffering very much, and everything became clear afterwards. Recalling the past now, I will not say that she was the beauty she seemed to me then. Perhaps she was even not good-looking at all. Tall, slender, but lithe and strong, the irregularity of the lines of her face was even striking. Her eyes were set somehow in Kalmuck fashion, slantingly; her face was pale, with high cheekbones, swarthy and thin; yet there was in this face something so conquering and attracting! Some sort of power told itself in the burning look of her dark eyes; she appeared "as a conqueror, and to conquer." She seemed proud, and sometimes even bold; I do not know if she succeeded in being kind; but I know that she wanted terribly and suffered over forcing herself to be a little bit kind. In her nature there were, of course, many beautiful yearnings and very just undertakings; but it was as if everything in her were eternally seeking its level without finding it, everything was chaos, restlessness, agitation. Perhaps she made too severe demands on herself, never finding herself strong enough to satisfy them.
She sat down on the sofa and looked around the room.
"Why is it that I always feel sad at such moments—can you solve that, my learned man? All my life I thought I'd be God knows how glad to see you and remember everything, and now I don't seem to be glad at all, though I do love you... Ah, God, he's got my portrait hanging here! Give it to me, I remember it, I remember!"
An excellent miniature watercolor portrait of the twelve-year-old Liza had been sent to Stepan Trofimovich by the Drozdovs from Petersburg nine years before. Since then it had always hung on his wall.
"Was I really such a pretty child? Is that really my face?"
She got up and, holding the portrait in her hand, looked at herself in the mirror.
"Take it, quickly!" she exclaimed, giving the portrait back. "Don't hang it up now, later, I don't even want to look at it." She sat down on the sofa again. "One life passed, another began, then that passed and a third began, and there's still no end. All the ends are cut off as if with a pair of scissors. See what old things I'm saying, and yet so true!"
She grinned and looked at me; she had already glanced at me several times, but Stepan Trofimovich, in his excitement, even forgot that he had promised to introduce me.
"And why is my portrait hanging under those daggers? And why do you have so many daggers and swords?"
Indeed, he had hanging on the wall, I do not know why, two crossed yataghans and, above them, a real Circassian sabre. She looked at me so directly as she asked that I was just about to make some reply, but cut myself short. Stepan Trofimovich finally realized and introduced me.
"I know, I know," she said, "I'm very glad. Maman has also heard a lot about you. And let me also introduce you to Mavriky Nikola-evich, he is a wonderful man. I've already formed a funny idea of you: you're Stepan Trofimovich's confidant, aren't you?"
I blushed.
"Ah, forgive me, please, I used the completely wrong word—not funny at all, but just..." She blushed and became embarrassed. "However, why be ashamed of being a wonderful man? Well, it's time to go, Mavriky Nikolaevich! Stepan Trofimovich, in half an hour you must be at our place. God, how we're going to talk! Now I am your confidante, in everything, everything, understand?"
Stepan Trofimovich immediately became frightened.
"Oh, Mavriky Nikolaevich knows everything, don't be embarrassed because of him!"
"What does he know?"
"But can it be, really?" she cried out in amazement. "Hah, so it's true they're hiding it! I didn't want to believe it. They're hiding Dasha, too. Auntie wouldn't let me see Dasha just now, said she had a headache."