“Here you are at last!” the wife cried out hysterically.
It was Pavel Pavlovich himself; in surprise and fear he gazed at Velchaninov, struck dumb before him as before a phantom. His stupefaction was so great that for some time he apparently understood nothing of what his insulted spouse was telling him in an irritable and quick patter. Finally he gave a start and grasped all his horror at once: his own guilt, and about Mitenka, and about this “m’sieur”—for some reason the lady referred this way to Velchaninov—“being our guardian angel and a savior, and you—you are eternally elsewhere when you should be here…”
Velchaninov suddenly burst out laughing.
“But he and I are friends, friends from childhood!” he exclaimed to the astonished lady, familiarly and patronizingly putting his right arm around the shoulders of Pavel Pavlovich, who was smiling a pale smile. “Didn’t he ever tell you about Velchaninov?”
“No, never,” the wife was slightly dumbstruck.
“But do introduce me to your wife, you perfidious friend!”
“This, Lipochka, is indeed Mr. Velchaninov, this is…” Pavel Pavlovich tried to begin and shamefully broke off. The wife turned red and flashed her eyes at him in spite, obviously for the “Lipochka.”
“And imagine not telling me you were getting married, and not inviting me to the wedding, but you, Olympiada…”
“Semyonovna,” Pavel Pavlovich prompted.
“Semyonovna,” suddenly echoed the falling-asleep uhlan.
“You must forgive him, Olympiada Semyonovna, for me, for the sake of friends meeting… He’s a good husband!”
And Velchaninov amicably slapped Pavel Pavlovich on the shoulder.
“But, darling, I only stayed behind… for a moment…” Pavel Pavlovich began to justify himself.
“And abandoned your wife to disgrace!” Lipochka picked up at once. “You’re never where you ought to be, and where you oughn’t to be, there you are…”
“Where you oughtn’t to be—there where you oughtn’t to be… where you oughtn’t to be…” the uhlan kept agreeing.
Lipochka was nearly breathless with agitation; she knew it was not nice in front of Velchaninov, and she blushed, but she could not help herself.
“Where you oughtn’t to be, you’re all too cautious, all too cautious!” escaped from her.
“Under the bed… looks for lovers… under the bed—where he oughtn’t to be… oughtn’t to be…” Mitenka, too, suddenly became terribly agitated.
But there was nothing to be done with Mitenka. Everything ended pleasantly, however; full acquaintance ensued; Pavel Pavlovich was sent for coffee and bouillon. Olympiada Semyonovna explained to Velchaninov that they were now going from O., where her husband worked, to spend two months on their estate, that it was not far away, only twenty-five miles from this station, that they had a wonderful house and garden there, that they would have guests, that they also had neighbors, and that if Alexei Ivanovich was so good as to wish to visit them “in their seclusion,” she would receive him as a guardian angel, because she could not recall without horror what would have happened if… and so on and so forth—in short, “as a guardian angel…”
“And a savior, and a savior,” the uhlan ardently insisted.
Velchaninov politely thanked her and replied that he was always ready, that he was a perfectly idle and unoccupied man, and that Olympiada Semyonovna’s invitation was only too flattering for him. After which he at once began a merry little conversation, into which he successfully inserted two or three compliments. Lipochka blushed with pleasure and, as soon as Pavel Pavlovich returned, announced to him rapturously that Alexei Ivanovich had been so good as to accept her invitation to be their guest in the country for a whole month and promised to come in a week. Pavel Pavlovich gave a lost smile and said nothing. Olympiada Semyonovna shrugged at him and raised her eyes to heaven. Finally they parted: once more gratitude, again “guardian angel,” again “Mitenka,” and Pavel Pavlovich finally took his spouse and the uhlan to put them on the train. Velchaninov lit a cigar and began to stroll along the gallery in front of the station; he knew that Pavel Pavlovich would presently come running back again to talk with him before the bell rang. And so it happened. Pavel Pavlovich immediately appeared before him with an anxious question in his eyes and on his whole physiognomy. Velchaninov laughed: he took him “amicably” by the elbow and, drawing him to the nearest bench, sat down and sat him down beside him. He kept silent himself; he wanted Pavel Pavlovich to be the first to speak.
“So you’re coming to visit us, sir?” the man babbled, approaching the matter with complete frankness.
“I just knew it! Hasn’t changed a bit!” Velchaninov burst out laughing. “But could you really,” he again slapped him on the shoulder, “could you really think seriously even for a moment that I would in fact come to visit, and for a whole month at that—ha, ha!”
Pavel Pavlovich became all aroused.
“So you—won’t come, sir!” he cried out, not concealing his joy in the least.
“I won’t, I won’t!” Velchaninov laughed smugly. However, he himself did not understand why he found it so especially funny, but the further it went, the funnier it became to him.
“Can it be… can it really be as you say, sir?” And, having said that, Pavel Pavlovich even jumped up from his seat in trembling expectation.
“But I already said I won’t come—what a queer fellow you are!”
“How then… if so, sir, how shall I tell Olympiada Semyonovna, when you don’t come in a week, after she’s been waiting, sir?”
“That’s a hard one! Tell her I broke a leg or something like that.”
“She won’t believe it, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich drew out in a plaintive little voice.
“And you’ll catch hell?” Velchaninov went on laughing. “But I notice, my poor friend, that you do tremble before your beautiful spouse—eh?”
Pavel Pavlovich tried to smile, but it did not come off. That Velchaninov had renounced his visit—that, of course, was good; but that he spoke familiarly about his wife—now, that was bad. Pavel Pavlovich cringed. Velchaninov noticed it. Meanwhile the second bell had already rung; from the faraway car came a piping little voice, anxiously summoning Pavel Pavlovich. He fidgeted on the spot, but did not run at the summons, apparently expecting something more from Velchaninov—of course, a further assurance that he would not visit them.
“What is your wife’s former name?” Velchaninov said, as if not noticing Pavel Pavlovich’s anxiety at all.
“I took her from our local vicar, sir,” the man replied, glancing at the train in bewilderment and cocking an ear.
“Ah, I understand, for her beauty.”
Pavel Pavlovich cringed again.
“And who is this Mitenka to you?”
“He’s just so, sir; our distant relative—that is, mine, sir, my late cousin’s son, Golubchikov, demoted for disorderly conduct, and now restored again; so we’ve equipped him… An unfortunate young man, sir…”
“Well, well,” thought Velchaninov, “everything’s in order—the full setup!”
“Pavel Pavlovich!” again a distant summons was heard from the car, now with quite an irritated note in the voice.
“Pal Palych!” came another, hoarse voice.
Pavel Pavlovich again started fidgeting and fussing about, but Velchaninov seized him firmly by the elbow and stopped him.
“And do you want me to go right now and tell your wife how you wanted to put a knife in me—eh?”
“How can you, how can you, sir!” Pavel Pavlovich was terribly frightened, “God keep you from it, sir!”