He reached the count's big pond; it looked dark blue and frowning under the cloud, and a smell of damp and slime rose from it. Near the dam, two willows, one old and one young, drooped tenderly towards one another. Pyotr Mihalitch and Vlas- sitch had been walking near this very spot only a fortnight before, humming a students' song:
" ' Youth is wasted, life is nought, when the heart is cold and love- less.'"
A wretched song I
It was thundering as Pyotr Mihalitch rode through the copse, and the trees were bending and rustling in the wind. He had to make haste. It was only three-quarters of a mile through a meadow from the copse to Vlassitch's house. Here ihere were old birch-trees on each side of the road. They the same melancholy and unhappy air as their owner Vlassitch, and looked as tall and lanky as he. Big drops of rain pattered on the birches and on the grass; the wind had suddenly dropped, and there was a smell of wet earth and poplars. Be- fore him he saw Vlassitch's fence with a row of yel- low acacias, which were tall and lanky too; where the fence was broken he could see the neglected orchard.
Pyotr Mihalitch was not thinking now of the horsewhip or of a slap in the face, and did not know what he would do at Vlassitch's. He felt nervous. He felt frightened on his own account and on his sister's, and was terrified at the thought of seeing her. How would she behave with her brother? What would they both talk about? And had he not better go back before it was too late? As he made these reflections, he galloped up the avenue of lime- trees to the house, rode round the big clumps of li- lacs, and suddenly saw Vlassitch.
Vlassitch, wearing a cotton shirt, and top-boots, bending forward, with no hat on in the rain, was coming from the corner of the house to the front door. He was followed by a workman with a ham- mer and a box of nails. They must have been mending a shutter which had been banging in the wind. Seeing Pyotr Mihalitch, Vlassitch stopped.
" It's you I " he said, smiling. " That's nice."
" Yes, I've come, as you see," said Pyotr Mihal- itch, brushing the rain off himself with both hands.
" Well, that's capital l I'm very glad," said Vlas- sitch, but he did not hold out his hand: evidently he did not venture, but waited for Pyotr Mihalitch to hold out his. " It will do the oats good," he said, looking at the sky.
" Yes."
They went into the house in silence. To the right of the hall was a door leading to another hall and then to the drawing-room, and' on the left was a little room which in winter was used by the steward. Pyotr Mihalitch and Vlassitch went into this little room.
" Where were you caught in the rain? "
" Not far off, quite close to the house."
Pyotr Mihalitch sat down on the bed. He was glad of the noise of the rain and the darkness of the room. It was better: it made it less dreadful, and there was no need to see his companion's face. There was no anger in his heart now, nothing but fear and vexation with himself. He felt he had made a bad beginning, and that nothing would come of this visit.
Both were silent for some time and affected to be listening to the rain.
" Thank you, Petrusha," Vlassitch began, clear- ing his throat. " I am very grateful to you for coming. It's generous and noble of you. I under- stand it, and, believe me, I appreciate it. Believe me."
He looked out of the window and went on, stand- ing in the middle of the room:
" Everything happened so secretly, as though we were concealing it all from you. The feeling that you might be wounded and angry has been a blot on our happiness all these days. But let me justify myself. We kept it secret not because we did not trust you. To begin with, it all happened suddenly, by a kind of inspiration; there was no time to dis- cuss it. Besides, it's such a private, delicate mat- ter, and it was awkward to bring a third person in, even some one as intimate as you. Above all, in all this we reckoned on your generosity. You are a very noble and generous person. I am infinitely grateful to you. If you ever need my life, come and take it."
Vlassitch talked in a quiet, hollow bass, always on the same droning note; he was evidently agi- tated. Pyotr Mihalitch felt it was his turn to speak, and that to listen and keep silent would really mean playing the part of a generous and noble simpleton, and that had not been his idea in coming. He got up quickly and said, breathlessly in an undertone:
" Listen, Grigory. You know I liked you and could have desired no better husband for my sister; but what has happened is awful! It's terrible to think of it! "
" \Vhy is it terrible?" asked Vlassitch, with a quiver in his voice. " It would be terrible if we had done wrong, but that isn't so."
" Listen, Grigory. You know I have no preju- dices; but, excuse my frankness, to my mind you have both acted selfishly. Of course, I shan't say so to my sister — it will distress her; but you ought to know: mother is miserable beyond all description." " Yes, that's sad," sighed Vlassitch. " We fore- saw that, Petrusha, but what could we have done? Because one's actions hurt other people, it doesn't prove that they are wrong. What's to be done! Every important step one takes is bound to distress somebody. If you went to fight for freedom, that would distress your mother, too. What's to be done I Any one who puts the peace of his family be- fore everything has to renounce the life of ideas completely."
There was a vivid flash of lightning at the win- dow, and the lightning seemed to change the course of Vlassitch's thoughts. He sat down beside Pyotr Mihalitch and began saying what was utterly beside the point.
" I have such a reverence for your sister, Pe- trusha," he said. " When I used to come and see you, I felt as though I were going to a holy shrine, and I really did worship Zina. Now my rever- ence for her grows every day. For me she is some- thing higher than a wife — yes, higher I " Vlas- sitch waved his hands. " She is my holy of holies. Since she is living with me, I enter my house as though it were a temple. She is an extraordinary, rare, most noble woman I "
" Well, he's off now I " thought Pyotr Mihalitch; he disliked the word " woman."
" Why shouldn't you be married properly? " he asked. " How much does your wife want for a di- vorce ? "
" Seventy-five thousand."
" It's rather a lot. But if we were to negotiate with her? "
" She won't take a farthing less. She is an awful woman, brother," sighed Vlassitch. " I've never talked to you about her before — it was unpleasant to think of her; but now that the subject has come up, I'll tell you about her. I married her on the impulse of the moment — a fine, honourable im- pulse. An officer in command of a battalion of our regiment—if you care to hear the details — had an affair with a girl of eighteen; that is, to put it plainly, he seduced her, lived with her for two months, and abandoned her. She was in an awful position, brother. She was ashamed to go home to her parents; besides, they wouldn't have received her. Her lover had abandoned her; there was nothing left for her but to go to the barracks and sell herself. The other officers in the regiment were indignant. They were by no means saints them- selves, but the baseness of it was so striking. Be- sides, no one in the regiment could endure the man. And to spite him, you understand, the indignant lieu- tenants and ensigns began getting up a subscription for the unfortunate girl. And when we subalterns met together and began to subscribe five or ten roubles each, I had a sudden inspiration. I felt it was an opportunity to do something fine. I hastened to the girl and warmly expressed my sympathy. And while I was on my way to her, and while I was talking to her, I loved her fervently as a woman insulted and injured. Yes. . . . Well, a week later I made her an offer. The colonel and my com- rades thought my marriage out of keeping with the dignity of an officer. That roused me more than ever. I wrote a long letter, do you know, in which I proved that my action ought to be inscribed in the annals of the regiment in letters of gold, and so on. I sent the letter to my colonel and copies to my comrades. Well, I was excited, and, of course, I could not avoid being rude. I was asked to leave the regiment. I have a rough copy of it put away somewhere ; I'll give it to you to read some- time. It was written with great feeling. You will see what lofty and noble sentiments I was experienc- ing. I resigned my commission and came here with my wife. My father had left a few debts, I had no money, and from the first day my wife began making acquaintances, dressing herself smartly, and playing cards, and I was obliged to mortgage the estate. She led a bad life, you understand, and you are the only one of the neighbours who hasn't been her lover. After two years I gave her all I had to set me free and she went off to town. Yes. . . . And now I pay her twelve hundred roubles a year. She is an awful woman I There is a fly, brother, which lays an egg in the back of a spider so that the spider can't shake it off: the grub fastens upon the spider and drinks its heart's blood. That was how this woman fastened upon me and sucks the blood of my heart. She hates and despises me for being so stupid; that is, for marrying a woman like her. My chivalry seems to her despicable. ' A wise man cast me off,' she says, ' and a fool picked me up.' To her thinking no one but a pitiful idiot could have behaved as I did. And that is insuffer- ably bitter to me, brother. Altogether, I may say in parenthesis, fate has been hard upon me, very hard."