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Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up. Colibri got up, too.

"Good-bye, pretty little doll! And when will you give me a kiss?"

Colibri suddenly gave a little jump and swiftly flinging both arms

round his neck, gave him not precisely a kiss but a peck at his lips.

He tried in his turn to kiss her but she instantly darted back and

stood behind the sofa.

"To-morrow at seven o'clock, then?" he said with some confusion.

She nodded and taking a tress of her long hair with her two fingers,

bit it with her sharp teeth.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch kissed his hand to her, went out and shut the door

after him. He heard Colibri run up to it at once.... The key clicked

in the lock.

XVII

There was no one in Madame Fritsche's drawing-room. Kuzma

Vassilyevitch made his way to the passage at once. He did not want to

meet Emilie. Madame Fritsche met him on the steps.

"Ah, you are going, Mr. Lieutenant?" she said, with the same affected

and sinister smile. "You won't wait for Emilie?"

Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on his cap.

"I haven't time to wait any longer, madam. I may not come to-morrow,

either. Please tell her so."

"Very good, I'll tell her. But I hope you haven't been dull, Mr.

Lieutenant?"

"No, I have not been dull."

"I thought not. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

Kuzma Vassilyevitch returned home and stretching himself on his bed

sank into meditation. He was unutterably perplexed. "What marvel is

this?" he cried more than once. And why did Emilie write to him? She

had made an appointment and not come! He took out her letter, turned

it over in his hands, sniffed it: it smelt of tobacco and in one place

he noticed a correction. But what could he deduce from that? And was

it possible that Madame Fritsche knew nothing about it? And

she.... Who was she? Yes, who was she? The fascinating Colibri,

that "pretty doll," that "little image," was always before him and he

looked forward with impatience to the following evening, though

secretly he was almost afraid of this "pretty doll" and "little

image."

XVIII

Next day Kuzma Vassilyevitch went shopping before dinner, and, after

persistent haggling, bought a tiny gold cross on a little velvet

ribbon. "Though she declares," he thought, "that she never takes

presents, we all know what such sayings mean; and if she really is so

disinterested, Emilie won't be so squeamish." So argued this Don Juan

of Nikolaev, who had probably never heard of the original Don Juan and

knew nothing about him. At six o'clock in the evening Kuzma

Vassilyevitch shaved carefully and sending for a hairdresser he knew,

told him to pomade and curl his topknot, which the latter did with

peculiar zeal, not sparing the government note paper for curlpapers;

then Kuzma Vassilyevitch put on a smart new uniform, took into his

right hand a pair of new wash-leather gloves, and, sprinkling himself

with lavender water, set off. Kuzma Vassilyevitch took a great deal

more trouble over his personal appearance on this occasion than when

he went to see his "Zuckerpüppchen", not because he liked Colibri

better than Emilie but in the "pretty little doll" there was something

enigmatic, something which stirred even the sluggish imagination of

the young lieutenant.

XIX

Madame Fritsche greeted him as she had done the day before and as

though she had conspired with him in a plan of deception, informed him

again that Emilie had gone out for a short time and asked him to wait.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch nodded in token of assent and sat down on a chair.

Madame Fritsche smiled again, that is, showed her yellow tusks and

withdrew without offering him any chocolate.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch instantly fixed his eyes on the mysterious door.

It remained closed. He coughed loudly once or twice so as to make

known his presence.... The door did not stir. He held his breath,

strained his ears.... He heard not the faintest sound or rustle;

everything was still as death. Kuzma Vassilyevitch got up, approached

the door on tiptoe and, fumbling in vain with his fingers, pressed his

knee against it. It was no use. Then he bent down and once or twice

articulated in a loud whisper, "Colibri! Colibri! Little doll!" No one

responded. Kuzma Vassilyevitch drew himself up, straightened his

uniform--and, after standing still a little while, walked with more

resolute steps to the window and began drumming on the pane. He began

to feel vexed, indignant; his dignity as an officer began to assert

itself. "What nonsense is this?" he thought at last; "whom do they

take me for? If they go on like this, I'll knock with my fists. She

will be forced to answer! The old woman will hear.... What of it?

That's not my fault." He turned swiftly on his heel ... the door stood

half open.

XX

Kuzma Vassilyevitch immediately hastened into the secret room again on

tiptoe. Colibri was lying on the sofa in a white dress with a broad

red sash. Covering the lower part of her face with a handkerchief, she

was laughing, a noiseless but genuine laugh. She had done up her hair,

this time plaiting it into two long, thick plaits intertwined with red

ribbon; the same slippers adorned her tiny, crossed feet but the feet

themselves were bare and looking at them one might fancy that she had

on dark, silky stockings. The sofa stood in a different position,

nearer the wall; and on the table he saw on a Chinese tray a

bright-coloured, round-bellied coffee pot beside a cut glass sugar bowl

and two blue China cups. The guitar was lying there, too, and blue-grey

smoke rose in a thin coil from a big, aromatic candle.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch went up to the sofa and bent over Colibri, but

before he had time to utter a word she held out her hand and, still

laughing in her handkerchief, put her little, rough fingers into his

hair and instantly ruffled the well-arranged curls on the top of his

head.

"What next?" exclaimed Kuzma Vassilyevitch, not altogether pleased by

such unceremoniousness. "Oh, you naughty girl!"

Colibri took the handkerchief from her face.