'How stupid, though,' he thought, rocking with laughter. 'Have I gone mad, or \vhat ?'
Higher, ever higher, soared Layevsky's cackles until they sounded like the yapping of a pekinese. He tried to rise from the table, but his legs would not obey him and his right hand was mysteriously bobbing about on the table as if it had a life of its o^, and making frenzied attempts to pick up pieces of paper and crumple them. The astonished glances, Samoylenko's earnest, scared face and a leer of cold disgust from the zoologist—seeing these things Layevsky knew that he was having hysterics.
'What a shame and disgrace,' he thought, feeling warm tears on his face. 'Oh, what a scandal—such a thing has never happened to me before.'
They took his arms and led him off, holding his head from behind. A tumbler flashed before his eyes, and banged on his teeth. Water spilt on his chest. Then came a small room and twin beds in the middle covered with clean, snow-whitc coverlets. Collapsing on one of them, he burst into tears.
'Never mind,' said Samoylenko. 'It's quite common, this. It happens.'
Nadezhda stood by the bed—scared stiff, trembling from head to foot and a prey to awful forebodings.
'What's wrong?' she asked. 'What is it? Tell me, for God's sake.'
She wondered if Kirilin had written to him.
'It's nothing,' said [ayevsky, laughing and crying. 'Go away, old girl.'
Since his expression betrayed neither hate nor disgust, he must still be in ignorance. Somewhat reassured, Nadezhda went back to the drawing-room.
'Never mind, dear,' said Mary Biryugov, sitting downwn by her side and taking her hand. 'It'll pass. Men are weak, like us sinful women. You're both weathering a crisis now, and it's all perfectly natural. Now, dear, I'm waiting for my answer. Let's talk.'
'No, let's not,' said Nadezhda, listening to Layevsky's sobs. 'I feel so miserable, let me go home.'
'How can you say such a thing, dear?' asked Mary Bitytgov, horrorstruck. 'Can you think I'd let you go without supper? Let's eat, and you can be on your way then.'
'I feel so miserable,' whispered Nadezhda, gripping the arm of her chair with both hands to stop herself falling.
'He's thrown a fit !' Von Koren said gaily, coming into the drawing- room, but went out disconcerted on seeing Nadezhda.
When the attack was over, Layevsky sat on the strange bed.
'How scandalous,' he thought. 'Breaking down like a hysterical schoolgirl! How absurd and repulsive I must seem. I'll go out the back way—. But no—that would mean taking my hysterics too seriously. I should make a joke of it.'
He looked in the mirror and sat still for a while, then went back to the drawing-room.
'Well, here I am,' he said, siiling. But he sufi"ered agonies of em- barrassment, and felt that his presence embarrassed others too.
'These things happen,' he said, taking a seat. 'I'm just sitting here, when suddenly, you know, I feel this ghastly stabbing pain in my side —quite insufi"erable. My nerves can't cope and, er, play me this idiotic trick. It's a nervous age, this, you can't get away from it.'
At supper he drank wine, talked and occasionally rubbed his side, wincing as if to show that it still hurt. No one was impressed except Nadezhda, he saw.
At about half past nine they went for a stroll on the boulevard. Fearing that Kirilin might accost her, Nadezhda.tried to keep close to Mary Bityugov and the children. Faint with fear and misery, she could feel a chill coming on. Her heart sank, and she could scarcely drag one foot after the other, but she did not go home, feeling sure that Kirilin or Achmianov—or both—would follow her. Kirilin was walking behind with Nicodemus Bityugov.
'No one is permitted to take liberties with me!' Kirilin was chanting in an undertone. 'I will not allow it!'
From the boulevard they turned towards the Pavilion and set ofi along the beach, gazing for some time at the phosphorescent glow on the sea. Von Koren began to explain the cause of the phosphorescence.
XIV
'It's time for bridge, though—I'm keeping them waiting,' said Layevsky. 'Good nigh(, all.'
'Wait, I'll come with you,' said Nadezhda, taking his arm.
They bade farewell to the company and walked on. Kirilin took his leave also, remarking that he was going their way, and set off with them.
'So be it. I don't care,' thought Nadczhda. 'Let it happen.'
She felt as if all her bad memories had left her head and were march- ing by her side, breathing heavily in the darkncss. Meanwhile she, like a fly fallen in an ink-pot, could barely crawl along the road, and was smudging Layevsky's side and arm with black.
lfKirilin did something awful, she thought, it would be all her fault, not his. Why, there had once been a time when no man ever spoke to her like Kirilin, and it was she who had ended that time—snapping it off like a thread and obliterating it utterly. And whose fault was that? Bemused by her own desires, she had taken to siiling at a total stranger—just because he was tall and well-built, very likely. After rwo meetings she had grownwn tired of him and dropped him, which surely meant that he had the right to treat her as he pleased—or so she now thought.
'I'll leave you here, old girl,' Layevsky remarked, stopping. 'Kirilin will take you home.'
He bowed to Kirilin and hurried over the boulevard, then crossed the street to Sheshkovsky's house, where the lights were burning, after which he was heard banging the garden gate behind him.
'I want an explanation, if you don't mind,' began Kirilin. 'Not being a boy or one of these Achmi-whatcver-it-ises or other young popinjays, I insist on being treated seriously.'
Nadezhda's heart pounded. She made no answer.
'The abrupt change in your attitude to me—I was at first inclined to put it down to flirtatiousness,' went on Kirilin. 'But I now see that you simply don't know how to treat respectable people. You just wanted a bit of sport with me—l might be that Armenian brat. But I am a respectable man and I demand to be treated as such. So I am at your service, madam '
'Oh, I'm so miserable.' Nadezhda started to cry, turning away ro hide her tears.
'Well, I'm miserable too. What of it?'
Kirilin paused for a whilc, then spokc again.
'I r^^t, m.acbm,' hc uid, distinctly and dcliberatcly. 'Ifyou won't grant mc an asagrurion now, I shall makc a sccnc this vcry night.'
'Let me off tonight,' Nadezhcb said, not recognizing hcr o^ voice —w pitcously faint was it. ,
'I mwt teach you a l^wn. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but a leson I must teach you. Yes, ^cbm, a lesn you mwt, unfo^^utcly, be uught. I rcquirc two m^^gs—tonight and tomorrow. ^n thc day aftcr ^t you'U be quitc free to go whcrc thc blazes you likc with whom you likc. Tonight and tomorrow.'
Nad^hcb went up to hcr gate and paused.
'Let mc go,' shc whispercd, trcmbling from hcad to foot, and secing not^^ in thc cbrkness beforc hcr but thc ^^'s whitc tunic. 'You'rc quite right, I am a tcrriblc woman and it is all my fault, but lct mc go— pl^^.' Shc touchcd his cold hand and shuddcrcd. 'I beg you '
'Unluppily, howcvcr,' K.irilin sighcd, 'I do not pro^^ to Ict you go. I wish to tach you a that's all—makc you undcrstand.
Besides, my faith in women is nonc too grat, macbm.'
'I feel so miserablc.'
Nad^hcb listencd to thc sea's cvcn booming, gbnccd up at thc sur-spanglcd sk.y and wantcd to makc a quick cnd of it all—rid hcrself of tdil da^cd feel of living with all its sun, men and fcvcn.
'Not in my howe, though,' she s.aid coldly. 'Ta.k.c me somcwhcrc clse.'
'Let's go to Myuridov's then—wlut could be bettcr?'
'Wherc'j tat?'
'Ncar thc old to^ wall.'
Shc set off quickly along thc strect, then t^rccd up a lanc lcading to thc mountains. It was dark. Hcrc and thcrc on thc road were palc, bright strcaks from thc lightcd windows, and shc fclt likc a fly which kecps falling in an ink-wcU, thcn craw^^ out again into thc light. K.irilin walkcd behind hcr. Stumbling at onc point, hc ncarly lost his footing and kughcd.