"I'm looking for a lodging," Ordynov answered impatiently.
"Which?" asked the porter, with a grin. He looked at Ordynov as if he knew all about him.
"I want a furnished room in a flat," answered Ordynov.
"There's none in that yard," the porter answered enigmatically.
"And here?"
"None here, either." The porter took up his spade again.
"Perhaps they will let me have one," said Ord5mov, giving the porter ten kopecks.
The Tatar glanced at Ord3mov, took the ten kopecks, then took up his spade again, and after a brief silence announced that: "No, there was no lodging." But the young man did not hear him; he walked along the rotten, shaking planks that
lay in the pool towards the one entrance from that yard into the lodge of the house, a black, filthy, muddy entrance that looked as though it were drowning in the pool. In the lower storey lived a poor coffin-maker. Passing by his cheering workshop, Ordynov clambered by a half-broken, shppeiy, spiral staircase to the upper storey, felt in the darkness a heavy, clumsy door covered with rags of sacking, found the latch and opened it. He was not mistaken. Before him stood the same old man, looking at him intently with extreme surprise.
"What do you want?" he asked abruptly and almost in a whisper.
"Is there a room to let?" asked Ordjmov, almost forgetting everything he had meant to say. He saw over the old man's shoidder the young woman.
The old man began silently closing the door, shutting Ordynov out.
"We have a lodging to let," the young woman's friendly voice said suddenly.
The old man let go of the door.
"I want a comer," said Ordynov, hurriedly entering the room and addressing himself to the beautiful woman.
But he stopped in amazement as though petrified, looking at his future landlord and landlady; before his eyes a mute and amazing scene was taking place. The old man was as pale as death, as though on the point of losing consciousness. He looked at the woman with a leaden, fixed, searching gaze. She too grew pale at first; then blood rushed to her face and her eyes flashed strangely. She led Ord5mov into another little room.
The whole flat consisted of one rather large room, divided into three by two partitions. From the outer room they went straight into a narrow dark passage; directly opposite was the door, evidently leading to a bedroom the other side of the partition. On the right, the other side of the passage, they went into the room which was to let; it was narrow and pokey, squeezed in between the partition and two low windows; it was blocked up with the objects necessary for daily Ufe; it was poor and cramped but passably clean. The furniture consisted of a plain white table, two plain chairs and a locker that ran both sides of the wall. A big, old-fashioned ikon in a gilt wreath stood over a shelf in a comer and a lamp was burning before it. There was a huge, clumsy Russian stove partiy in
'this room and partly in the passage. It was clear that it was impossible for three people to live in such a flat.
They began discussing terms, but incoherently and hardly understanding one another. Two paces away from her, Ordynov could hear the beating of her heart; he saw she was trembling with emotion and, it seemed, with fear. At last they came to an agreement of some sort. The young man announced that he should move in at once and glanced at his landlord. The old man was standing at the door, still peile, but a quiet, even dreamy smile had stolen on to his lips. Meeting Ordynov's eyes he frowned agedn.
"Have you a passport?" he asked suddenly, in a loud and abrupt voice, opening the door into the passage for him.
"Yes," answered Ordynov, suddenly taken aback.
"Who are you?"
"Vassily Ordynov, nobleman, not in the service, engaged in private work," he answered, falling into the old man's tone.
"So am I," answered the old man. "I'm Ilya Murin, artisan. Is that enough for you? You can go . . ."
An hour later Ordynov was in his new lodging, to the surprise of himself and of his German, who, together with his dutiful Tinchen, was beginning to suspect that his new lodger had deceived hhn.
Ordynov did not understand how it had all happened, and he did not want to understand. . . .
CHAPTER II
HIS heart was beating so violently that he was giddy, and everything was green before his eyes; mechanically he busied himself arranging his scanty belongings in his new lodgings: he undid the bag containing various necessary possessions, opened the box containing his books and began laying them out on the table; but soon all this work dropped from his hands. Every minute there rose before his eyes the image of the woman, the meeting with whom had so troubled and disturbed his whole existence, who had filled his heart with such irresistible, violent ecstasy—and such happiness seemed at once flooding his starved life that his thou^ts grew dizzy and his soul swooned in anguish and perplexity. He took his passport and carried it to the landlord in the
hope of getting a glance at her. But Murin scarcely opned
the door; he took the paper from him, said, "Good; live in
peace," and closed the door again. An unpleasant feeling came
over Ordjmov. He did not know why, but it was irksome for
him to look at the old man. There was something spiteful and
contemptuous in his eyes. But the unpleasant impression
I quickly passed off. For the last three days Ordynov had, in
\ comparison with his former stagnation, been living in a whirl
of life; but he could not reflect, he was, indeed, afraid to. His
whole existence was in a state of upheaval and chaos; he dimly
■ felt as though his life had been broken in half; one yearning,
one expectation possessed him, and no other thoughts troubled
him.
In perplexity he went back to his room. There by the stove in which the cooking was done a littie humpbacked old woman was busily at work, so filthy and clothed in such rags that she was a pitiful sight. She seemed very ill-humoured and grumbled to herself at times, mmnbling with her lips. She was his landlord's servant. Ordynov tried to talk to her, but she would not speak, evidently from ill-humour. At last dinnertime arrived. The old woman took cabbage soup, pies and beef out of the oven, and took them to her master eind mistress. She gave some of the same to Ordynov. After dinner there was a death-like silence in the flat.
Ordynov took up a book and spent a long time turning over its pages, tr}ang to follow the meaning of what he had read often before. Losing patience, he threw down the book and began again putting his room to rights; at last he took up his cap, put on his coat and went out into the street. Walking at hazard, without seeing the road, he still tried as far as he could to concentrate his mind, to collect his scattered thoughts and to reflect a little upon his position. But the effort only reduced him to misery, to torture. He was attacked by fever and chills alternately, and at times his heart beat so violently that he had to support himself against the wall. "No, better death," he thought; "better death," he whispered with feverish, trembling lips, hardly thinking of what he was saying. He walked for a very long time; at last, feeling that he was soaked to the skin and noticing for the first time that it was pouring with rain, he returned home. Not far from home he saw his porter. He fancied that the Tatar stared at him for some time with curiosity, and then went his way when he noticed that he had been seen.