'One man seduces and abducts my sister,' he thought. 'A second will come and cut my mother's throat, a third will set fire to the house or burgle us: and all this under the mask of friendship, lofty principles and sufferings.'
'I won't have it!' Ivashin suddenly shouted, thumping the table.
He jumped up and ran out of the dining-room. His estate-manager's horse was saddled up in the stables, so he mounted it and galloped off to see Vlasich.
Stormy emotions raged within him. He felt the urge to do something striking and impetuous even if it meant regretting it for the rest of his life. Should he call Vlasich a blackguard, slap his face, challenge him to a duel ? But Vlasich wasn't the sort who fights duels. As for calling him a blackguard and slapping his face, that would only increase his wretchedness and make him retreat further inside himself. These miserable, meek specimens are the limit, they are more trouble than anyone. They get away with murder. When a miserable man counters a well-deserved reproach with his look of profound guilt and sickly smile, when he submissively bows his head before you . . . then, it seems, Justice herself has not the heart to strike.
'Never mind,' decided Ivashin. 'I'll horsewhip him in Zina's presence and I'll give him a piece of my mind.'
He rode through his woodland and scrub, and imagined Zina trying to justify what she had done by talking of women's rights, of the freedom of the individual, and by saying that there is no difference between being married in church and being a common-law wife. Just like a woman, she would argue about things she didn't understand, and she would probably end up by asking what this had to do with him and what right he had to interfere.
'True, I haven't any right,' muttered Ivashin. 'But so much the better. The ruder, the more in the wrong I am the better.'
The air was sultry, clouds of gnats hung low above the ground and peewits wept piteously in the scrub. There was every sign of rain, yet not a cloud in the sky. Crossing the boundary of his estate, Ivashin galloped over a level, smooth field—he often took this way, and he knew every bush and hollow. That object looming far ahead of him in the twilight like a dark cliff... it was a red church. He could picture it all in the smallest detail, even the plaster on the gate and the calves which were always browsing on the hedge. Nearly a mile from the church, on the right, was the dark copse belonging to Count Koltovich and beyond that copse Vlasich's land began.
From behind church and Count's copse a huge black cloud advanced with white lightnings flashing on it.
'Well, here we arc, Lord help us,' thought Ivashin.
The horse soon tired of the pace and Ivashin tired too. The thunder- head glared at him, apparently advising him to turn back, and he felt a little scared.
'I'll prove they're in the wrong,' he tried to reassure himself. 'They'll talk of .free love and freedom of the individual, yet freedom means self-control, surely, not giving way to passions. It's sheer licentiousness, their freedom is.'
Here was the Count's large pond, dark blue and glowering under the cloud, breathing damp and slime. Near the log-path two willows— one old, one young—were leaning tenderly into each other. Ivashin and Vlasich had walked past this very spot a fortnight ago, softly singing the students' song about it being love that makes the world go round.
Wretched song!
Thunder rumbled as Ivashin rode through the wood, and the trees roared and bent in the wind. He must hurry. From the copse to Vlasich's estate he had less than a mile ofmeadow to cover along a path flanked on both sides by old birch-trees. Like Vlasich they were a wretched, dismal sight, being every bit as spindly and lanky as their o^ner. Heavy rain rustled in birches and grass. The wind suddenly dropped, there was a whiff of wet earth and poplars. Then Vlasich's yellow acacia hedge, also lanky and spindly, came into view. At the point where some lattice-work had collapsed his neglected orchard appeared.
No longer thinking about slapping Vlasich's face or horsewhipping him, Ivashin did not know what he was going to do p.t the man's house. He felt nervous. He was afraid on his o^n behalf and on his sister's— scarcd at the thought of seeing her any moment. How would she behave towards her brother? What would the two of them talk about? And should he not turn back while there was yet time ? Thus brooding, he galloped down the avenue of lime-trees to the house, rounded the broad lilac bushes—and suddenly saw Vlasich.
Bare-headed, in cotton shirt and top-boots, stooping under the rain, Vlasich was going from a corner of the house towards the front door followed by a workman with a hammer and a box ofnails. They must have been mending a shutter which had been banging in the wind. Vlasich saw Ivashin and stopped.
'Is it you Peter?' he smiled. 'What a very nice surprise.'
'Yes, it's me, as you see,' said Ivashin quietly, brushing off rain-drops with both hands.
'Well, what a good idea. Delighted,' said Vlasich, but did not hold out his hand, obviously hesitating and waiting for the other to make the first move.
'Good for the oats, this,' he said with a glance at the sky.
'Quite so.'
They went silently into the house. A door on the right led from the hall into another hall and then into a reception room, and there was a door on the left into the small room occupied by Vlasich's manager in winter. Ivashin and Vlasich went into that room.
'Where did the rain catch you?' Vlasich asked.
'Not far from here, quite close to the house.'
Ivashin sat on the bed, glad of the rain's noise, glad that the room was dark. It was better that way—not so unnerving, and he need not look his companion in the eye. His rage had passed, but he felt afraid and vexed with himself. He had got off to a bad start, he felt, and his trip boded ill.
For some time neither man spoke and they pretended to be listening to the rain.
'Thanks, Peter,' began Vlasich, clearing his throat. 'Most obliged to you for corning. It's generous of you, very decent. I appreciate it, I value it greatly, believe you me.'
He looked out of the window and continued, standing in the middle of the room.
'Somehow everything happened secretly as if we were keeping you in the dark. Knowing that we might have hurt you, made you angry ... it has cast a cloud over our happiness all this time. But let mo: defend myself. It was not that we didn't trust you, that wasn't why we were so secretive. In the first place, it all happened, on the spur of the moment and there was no time to discuss things. Secondly, this is such an intimate, sensitive business and it was awkward to bring in a third party, even one as close to us as you. But the real point is, we were banking heavily on your generosity all along. You're the most generous of men, you're such a frightfully decent chap. I'm infinitely obliged to you. If you should ever need my life, then come and take it.'
Vlasich spoke in a low, hollow, deep voice, all on one note like a fog-hom. He was obviously upset. Ivashin felt that it was his tum to speak now, and that for him to listen in silence really would be to pose as the most generous and frightfully decent of nit-wits—which was not what he had come for.
He got quickly to his feet.
'Look here, Gregory,' he panted in a low voice, 'you know I liked you—couldn't want a better husband for my sister. But what's happened is frightful, it doesn't bear thinking of."
'What's so horrible, though?' asked Vlasich in quaking tones. 'It would be horrible if we had done wrong, but we haven't, have we?'
'Look here, Gregory, you know I'm not the least bit stuffy, but— well, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but you have both been very selfish, to my way of thinking. I shan't say anything to Zina about this, of course, it would only upset her, but you ought to know that Mother's sufferings are practically indescribable.'
'Yes, very lamentable,' sighed Vlasich. 'We foresaw that, Peter, but what on earth could we do about it? Just because your actions upset someone it doesn't mean they're wrong. It can't be helped. Any serious step you take . . . it's bound to upset somebody. If you went to fight for freedom that would hurt your mother too, it can't be helped. If you make your family's peace of mind your main priority it means good-bye to any idealism in life.'