what!'
' How easily you talk!' said Lizaveta Alexandrovna; ' have you no pity for Alexandr ? '
' No. If he had a pain in his back, I should pity him ; that not an idea, nor a dream, nor romantic, but a real sorrow .... Ugh !'
' Tell me, at least, uncle, what I had better do now ? How with your good sense do you solve that problem ? '
' What_y_ou should do ? why, go back.Jo the country.' I / 'To the country!' repeatecTXizaveta Alexandrovna; 'are / you mad, Piotr ivanitch ? What can he do there ? ' { 'To the country ! ' repeated Alexandr, and both looked
at Piotr Ivanitch.
'Yes, to the country; there you would be with your ' mother and be a comfort to her. You are seeking a peaceful life now; there is everything to agitate you here; and what place could be more peaceful than there by the lake, with your aunt. Upon my word, I would go ! And who knows ? perhaps you may .... Ugh ! '
He clutched at his spine.
In a fortnight Alexandr had sent in his resignation and had come to fake leave of his uncle and aunt. Alexandr and his aunt were mournful and silent. Tears were shining in Lizaveta Alexandrovna's eyes. Piotr Ivanitch was the only one who talked.
' Neither career nor fortune ! ' he said, shaking his head ; ' was it worth while coming ? you are a disgrace to the name of Adouev !'
'That's enough, Piotr Ivanitch,' said Lizaveta Alexandrovna, ' we are sick of hearing of a career.'
' Well, my dear, to have done nothing in se^eji^yjears J '__ ..
' Good-bye, uncle,' said Alexandr. ' Tha*nk you for all, for all.'
' No, for nothing. Good-bye, Alexandr ? Don't you want any money for the journey ? ' I ^No, thank you, I have some.'
( ' What does it mean ! he never will take any; it really Virritates me at last. Well, good-bye, good-bye.'
'Aren't you sorry to part with him?' murmured Lizaveta Alexandrovna.
' Hm !' muttered Piotr Ivanitch, ' I have grown used to him. Remember, Alexandr, that you have an uncle and a friend—do you hear ? and if you need a post, or something to do, or vile dross, come straight to me ; you will always find them all.'
' And if you want sympathy,' said Lizaveta Alexandrovna, ' comfort in trouble, warm trusting affection '
' And sincere outpourings,' added Piotr Ivanitch.
' Then remember,' Lizaveta Alexandrovna went on, ' that you have an aunt and a friend.'
' Come, my dear, that he will not need in the country; they are all there : flowers, and love, and outpourings, and even an aunt.'
Alexandr was much affected; he could not say a word. At parting from his uncle he was offering to embrace him, but not quite so confidently as seven years before. Piotr Ivanitch did not embrace him, but only took him by both hands and shook them more heartily than seven years ago. Lizaveta Alexandrovna was shedding tears.
' Ah! there's a burden off me, thank God !' said Piotr Ivanitch, when Alexandr had gone; ' I feel as if my back felt easier!'
' What did he do to you ? ' his wife articulated through her tears.
' Why, it was simply misery; worse than the factory hands. If they play the fool, you can give them the whip ; but what was one to do with him ? '
His aunt wept the whole day, and when Piotr Ivanitch asked for his dinner, he was told that nothing had been prepared, that the mistress had shut herself up in her room and given the cook no directions.
' And all Alexandr!' said Piotr Ivanitch; ' what a worry he is!'
He walked up and down and then went off to dine at the English Club.
CHAPTER XII
It was a lovely morning. The lake the reader knows already in the village of Grahae was just stirred by a faint ripple. The eyes involuntarily winked in the dazzling brilliance of the sunshine which flashed in sparkles of diamond and emerald on the water. Weeping birch-trees bathed their branches in the lake, and in parts of its banks were growing rushes, among which were nestling great yellow flowers reposing on broad floating leaves. Light clouds sometimes passed before the sun; suddenly it seemed to have turned its back on Grahse; then the lake and the forest and the village—all were instantly in shadow; there was a patch of sunshine only in the distance. The cloud passed—the lake was sparkling again, and the cornfields seemed covered with gold.
Anna Pavlovna had been sitting since five o'clock in the balcony. What had brought her out: the sunrise, the fresh breeze, or the lark's song ? No, she never took her eyes off the road which passed through the forest. Agrafena came up to ask for the keys. Anna Pavlovna did not glance at her, and not taking her eyes from the road gave her the keys without even asking her what for. The cook appeared; without a glance at him either, she gave him a multitude of directions. Once more the table was to be spread with a banquet.
Anna Pavlovna was left again alone. Suddenly her eyes brightened; every energy of her soul and body were strained to look; something dark appeared upon the road. Some one was coming, but slowly, deliberately. Ah ! it was a waggon coming down from the mountain. Anna Parlovna frowned.
' Some evil spirit sent him ! ' she said; ' they might go round, all rush up here.'
She sank back again disappointed into her easy-chair, and again with trembling expectation bent her gaze upon the forest, without noticing anything around her. But there was something to notice around her; the scene began to change significantly. The air, hot with the burning sun of midday, grew heavy and stifling. Then the sun was hidden. It grew dark. And the forest, and the distant
villages, and the grass all began to assume a uniform and threatening hue.
Anna Pavlovna revived and looked up. Good Heavens ! From the west was creeping, like a living monster, a shapeless blur of blackness, with a copper glow upon its edges, and as quickly swooping down upon the village and the forest, stretching like two huge wings on both sides. Everything in nature seemed in dismay. The cows hung their heads; the horses lashed their tails and snorted with distended nostrils, shaking their manes: the dust under their hoofs did not fly up, but was parted like sand under the wheels. The clouds grew heavy with storm. Soon there v- was the slow roll of thunder in the distance.
Everything was hushed, as though expecting something unprecedented. What had become of the birds that had been fluttering and singing so merrily in the sunshine ? Where were the insects who had been buzzing in the grass ? All were hidden and voiceless, and inanimate objects seemed to share the foreboding of evil. The trees ceased rustling, and, intertwining their twigs together, they drew themselves up; only sometimes they bowed their tops down as though warning one another in a whisper of approaching danger. The thunderclouds had overspread the horizon and formed a kind of impenetrable leaden vault overhead. In the village every one was trying to reach home in time. There was an instant of universal solemn silence. Then, like a forerunner from the forest, came a fresh breeze blowing cool in the wayfarer's face; it rustled in the leaves, slammed the door of a hut as it passed, and ruffling up the dust of the street sank away in the bushes. After it rushed a whirling blast slowly raising a cloud of dust on the road; then it burst into the village, tore some rotten boards from the fence, carried off a thatch roof, and fluttered the petticoats of a peasant woman who was fetching water, and drove the cocks and hens along the street ruffling their feathers.
The squall rushed by. Again a hush. Everything was uneasy and seeking shelter; only a silly sheep saw nothing coming; he went on indifferently chewing cud, standing in the middle of the street gazing in one direction and not comprehending the general agitation ; and a straw from the thatch whirling along the road was doing its utmost to keep up with the rushing wind.
Two or three great drops of rain fell, and suddenly came a flash of lightning. An old man got up from the boundary mound of earth and hurriedly called some little grandchildren into the hut; an old woman crossing herself hastily shut a window.
The peals of thunder overpowering every sound of humanity rolled in triumphant sovereignty in the heavens, A horse broke away from its cord in terror, and dashed into the meadow ; a peasant tried in vain to catch it. And the rain at first fell in scattered drops, then pelted faster and faster and lashed more and more violently on the roofs and windows. A small white hand was thrust out on to the balcony for some flowers, the subjects of the tenderest solicitude.
At the first outbreak of the storm Anna Pavlovna crossed herself and left the balcony.
