Unconsciously, perhaps, they were envious because Grushenka had the narrowest passageway of them all. Grushenka thought that Madame Brenna kept after her more than after the other girls because she was still angry about her husband. That was wrong. But her conscience soon was especially uneasy and for a good reason. One evening, when she had been in the woman's department only a few days and, through with work, had just reached her room, in came Mr. Brenna. As was his habit, he threw her over the bed and gave her one of his tremendous pokes. She did not dare to fight him or to yell for help. She just gave in, gasping. She did not enjoy his big shaft, for she kept watching the door, dreadfully afraid that they might be detected.
The next day he came again, and, from then on, every day. Since things seemed to go smoothly, Grushenka finally forgot her fear and concentrated again on his love power, which filled her with hot chills and stimulated her to the climax of sacrificing passion. This went on for weeks and then, of course, one fine day Madame Brenna stood in the room again and the same as before repeated itself. Only this time, after having beaten up her husband, Madame Brenna gave Grushenka a murderous look, drove her husband out of the room, went herself, slammed the door behind her and locked and bolted the door from the outside. For a moment Grushenka was horrified. She sat oh the edge of the bed, paralyzed, unable to move or to think. Then an idea flashed through her brain, an idea which drove her to feverish activity. Flight! Away! As quickly as possible, as quick as lightning! She dressed, wrapped her clothes into a bundle and stuck the handkerchief with her money into her bodice. Flight!
How to leave the room? The oak door did not budge. The Jock was of forged iron. But there was the window! Through the window, over the window sill, along the house ledge into the open window of the next room. A dash through that room, flight down the stairs, out of the house, along the street, around the first corner, the second, the next. Exhausted and with a beating heart, Grushenka leaned against a house wall. Nobody had followed her. Still breathless, she forced herself to move on. The twilight turned to darkness. She reached Marta's house and the girl friends kissed each other tenderly and with tears. For a long time, neither spoke a word.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The stay with Marta was brief. The little money Grushenka had went quickly. Grushenka did not want to be a burden to her friend. She had to think of the future, She had found out from Marta that Madame Laura had once had a scheme to dispose of her, and she resolved to try Madame Laura again. Without telling Marta about it, she got ready one day at noontime and soon was sitting in Madame Laura's private office. Madame Laura took little time to scold her for running away. She asked Grushenka if this time she would accept what was provided for her. Grushenka consented meekly. Thinking it over, Madame Laura dispatched a billet-doux, this time to another gentleman. Grushenka sat in a corner and waited. About an hour later Madame Laura returned with a man of about thirty years of age.
Dressed like a dandy, with a face like an Italian, his mustache twirled up audaciously, he seemed coarse and vain and of a false hilarity. His hands were covered with dazzling diamonds. “Here is a beautiful model of mine,” Madame Laura said. “One of my serf girls.
I want to get rid of her because I promised a poor dear relative of mine her place. Now if she were just one of the usual run I would not have sent for you, but she is one of the finest and most beautiful creatures I have ever seen. Since you are a connoisseur of women and always on the lookout for special beauties, I thought I had better send for you.” She looked searchingly at the man. He twirled his mustache with affected fingers. He hardly looked in Grushenka's direction. “One more or less, it doesn't matter with us.” He seemed bored. “Come here, my dove,” Madame Laura said, making Grushenka get up and step forward. “Show yourself to the gentleman.”
Grushenka stood before him, Madame Laura tenderly stroking her hair and turning her slowly around. His face was expressionless. When Grushenka stood with her back towards him, she felt Madame Laura slowly raising her dress, her petticoats, then flattening out her drawers so as to expose her buttocks. The gentleman seemed pleased. “Oh,” he said, “you know my taste, don't you. Always give your customers what they ask for, eh? You know damn well that I like well-formed, small bottoms, not those big fat ones with their fat bolsters which are always in the way.” And he laughed in falsetto.
When he heard that the price was only a hundred rubles, he took a handful of loose gold out of his pocket, threw ten pieces on the table with a move of his hand as if to say, “a hundred rubles-bah, what's that,” arid Grushenka was sold. Needless to say, Madame Laura made the money disappear, not with undue haste, oh no, but quickly enough to be sure that she had gotten every bit of it. At the door waited a princely carriage. The man got in and had Grushenka sit down with him on the front seat Grushenka wondered at a master driving through Moscow with a serf sitting next to him on the driver's seat of the carriage. The answer to this came soon enough. Grushenka learned all about it while she had her first meal. Serge -that was his name-had been a serf himself. Now he was majordomo to the old Prince Asantcheiev-not only majordomo but his jailer and tormentor. The old Prince was entirely at his mercy. He was kept a prisoner in his own bed, was not allowed to see any of his relatives or friends, was in fact held incommunicado. Serge had made himself master by trickery and sheer physical strength, and had set himself up as tyrant over the wasted estate of the old Prince. He had forced his master to liberate him and in his last will to bequeath him a sizeable farm and some money. He had not dared to stipulate too large an amount for fear that after the death of the Prince the heirs and relatives would throw over the document and take their revenge on him. Therefore he kept the old man alive in order to steal as much cash as possible from the estate before his death. Serge was an excellent administrator. By tolls and taxes he knew how to squeeze their last penny out of the farmer serfs of the estate. But the household was run in a very disorderly manner, every servant doing just about what he wanted to do. The house, a tremendous castle, was unclean, the servants were dressed in rags, the horses were not cared for or properly fed, the whole little community of over fifty people lingered around without plan or discipline. Serge did not give a damn. He went about cursing and swearing, a short leather whip hanging from his belt always ready to strike-but only because he was concerned with his own comfort.
“What does he do with so many good looking girls?” asked Grushenka. “Well,” they answered, and grinned, “You'll find that out in time.” After dinner and a bath, Grushenka was first of all able to save her own clothes. They were not burned as usual and she was happy, for she had bought them with her own money. The elderly housekeeper then said that she had to give her the usual thrashing, but Grushenka wiggled herself out of that too by flattering the woman, kissing the switch and just making her forget to use it on her. But now she was a serf girl again. The price for her liberty was in the purse of Madame Laura. Serge forgot about Grushenka after her arrival, and she behaved like all the other serfs in the house. When they heard him approaching a room-and he was usually shouting and yelling-they quickly fled before he could see them. She never saw the old Prince Asantcheiev. Only two elderly women were allowed to enter his room, women trusted by Serge because they too had been taken care of in the Prince's will. One day Serge missed one of his rings. He was in a rage. The ring seemed to have been stolen by one of the women (he kept no male serfs in the house and never had visitors).