She flattered Orlov. Just to win a spurious smile or kiss from him she would go do^n on her knees and cuddle up like a little dog. Even when she was most depressed she could not pass a looking-glass without glancing at herself and straightening her hair. I was puzzled by her continued interest in clothes and delight in making purchases—somehow it didn't quite square with her deep-felt grief. She followed fashion and ordered expensive dresses. But what use was that to anyone ?
I particularly remember one new dress costing four hundred roubles. Fancy paying that much money for one more useless frock when charwomen slave away for only twenty copecks a day and provide their own food, besides which the girls who make Venice and Brussels lace receive only half a franc a day, being expected to earn the balance by immorality! Why couldn't Zinaida see the point? It puzzled me, grieved me. But she only had to leave the house and I was fmding excuscs and explanations for all that, and looking forward to the hall- porter's ring from downstairs.
She treated me like a servant, a lower form of life, as one may pat a dog while ignoring its existence. I received order:;, I was asked questions, but my presence passed unremarked. The master and mistress thought it unseemly to talk to me more than was accepted. Had I interrupted their conversation or burst out laughing while serving their meals, they would surely have deemed me insane and given me my notice. And fet Zinaida did wish me well. When she sent me on errands—when she explained the workings of a new lamp or anything like that—her expression was unusually serene, kindly and cordial, and she looked me straight in the eye. At such times I always felt that she gratefully remembered my bringing her letters to Znamensky Square. Polya thought me her favourite and hated me for that.
'Go on then, that mistress of yours wants you,' she would say with a sarcastic grin when Zinaida rang.
Zinaida treated me as a lower form of life, not suspecting that if anyone was humiliated in that house it was she herself! She failed to realize that I, a servant, suffered on her behalf, wondering twenty times a day what the future held for her and how it would all end. Matters deteriorated noticeably each day. Disliking tears as he did, Orlov began to show obvious fear of conversations and to shy off them after that evening's discussion about his job. When Zinaida began arguing or appealing, when she seemed on the verge oftears, he would make some plausible excuse and go to his study, or else leave the house altogether. He took to spending more and more lights away from home, and he ate out more frequently stiil. It was now he who asked his friends to take him off somewhere on Thursdays. Zinaida still longed to have the cooking done at home, to move into a new flat, to travel abroad—but day-dreams these day-dreams remained. Meals were brought in from the restaurant, and Orlov asked her not to broach the question of moving house until they had returned from abroad, observing with regard to the said expedition that they could not set off until he had gro^n his hair long since trailing from hotel to hotel in pursuit of ideals was impermissible without flowing locks.
It was the last strawwhenKukushkinbeganshowing up ofan evening during Orlov's absence. There was nothing exceptionable about his behaviour, but I just could not forget his once mentioning his intention of cutting Orlov out with Zinaida. Regaled on tea and claret, he sniggered and tried to curry favour by assuring Zinaida that a free union was superior to holy wedlock in every way, and that every respectable person should really come and do her homage now.
VIII
Christmas passed tediously in vague anticipation of some mishap. At breakfast on New Year's Eve Orlov suddenly announced that his office was sending him on some special mission to a Senator who was conducting a certain inspection in the provinces.
'One doesn't feel like going, but one can't think of any excuse,' he said with a vexed air. 'One must go, there's nothing for it.'
At this news Zinaida's eyes reddened instantly.
'Is.it for long?' she asked.
'About five days.'
'I'm glad you are going, quite honestly,' she said after a little thought. 'It will make a change. You will fall in love on the way and tell me all about it later.'
Whenever possible she tried to let Orlov see that she was no burden to him, and that he could do as he pleased, but this flaive, blatantly transparent stratagem deceived no one, only reminding him once again that he was not free.
'I am leaving this evening,' he said, and started reading the newspapers.
Zinaida was all for seeing him offat the station, but he dissuaded her, saying that he was not going to America and wouldn't be away five years, but only five days at the most.
They said good-bye at about half past seven. He put one arm round her, kissing her on forehead and lips.
'Now, you be a good little girl and don't fret while I'maway,' he said with a warmthand sincerity which touched even me. 'God preserve you.'
She gazed avidly into his face to imprint those precious features on her memory the more firmly, then twined her arms gracefully round his neck and laid her head on his chest.
'Forgive our misunderstandings,' she said in French. 'Husband and wife can't help quarrelling if they love one another, and I'm absolutely crazy about you. Don't forget me. Send lots of telegrams giving me all the details.'
Orlov kissed her again and left, looking awkward, not uttering a word. When he heard the door-lock click behind him he paused half way downstairs, deep in thought, and glanced upwards. Had but a sound reached him from above just then he would have turned back, I felt. But all was quiet. He adjusted his cloak and began walking downstairs hesitantly.
Hired sledges had long been awaiting him at the door. Orlov climbcd into one and I took his two suitcases into the other. There was a hard frost and fires smoked at the crossroads. As we hurtled .along, the cold wind nipped my face and hands, taking my breath away. I shut my eyes and thought what a marvellous woman she was, and how much she loved him. People actually collect rubbish in back yards nowadays, and sell it to obtain money for charity, while even broken glass is thought a useful commodity. And yet so rare a treasure as the love of an elegant, intelligent, decent young woman was going completely begging. One of the early sociologists regarded every evil passion as a potential force for good, given the skill to apply it, yet with us a fine, noble passion is born only to fade away: paralysed, aimless, uncom- prehended or vulgarized. Why?
The sledges suddenly halted. I opened my eyes and saw that we had stopped in Sergiyevsky Street near the large apartment house where Pekarsky lived. Orlov got out of his sledge and vanished into the entry. Five minutes later Pekarsky's man appeared in the doorway bareheaded.
'You deaf or something ?' he shouted at me, furious with the piercing cold. 'Send those drivers off and come upstairs, you're wanted.'
Mystified, I made my way to the first floor. I had been in Pekarsky's flat before—had stood in the hall and looked into the drawing-room, that is—and after the damp, gloomy street it had impressed me each time with the glitter of its picture-frames, bronzes and expensive furniture. Now, amid all this glory, I saw Gruzin, Kukushkin and, a little later, Orlov.
'Look here, Stephen,' said he, coming up to me. 'I shall be staying here till Friday or Saturday. If any letters or telegrams come, bring them here every day. At home, of course, you will say I've left town and sent my regards. You may go.'
When I returned Zinaida was lying on the sofa in the drawing-room eating a pear. Only one candle was burning in the holder.