Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories

Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a little surprised but thought it his duty to

introduce himself. Madame Fritsche looked at him from under her brows,

made no response, but asked her niece in Russian whether she would

like some tea.

'Ah, yes, tea!' answered Emilie. 'You will have some tea, won't you,

Mr. Officer? Yes, auntie, give us some tea! But why are you standing,

Mr. Officer? Sit down! Oh, how ceremonious you are! Let me take off my

fichu.'

When Emilie talked she continually turned her head from one side to

another and jerked her shoulders; birds make similar movements when

they sit on a bare branch with sunshine all round them.

Kuzma Vassilyevitch sank into a chair and assuming a becoming air of

dignity, that is, leaning on his cutlass and fixing his eyes on the

floor, he began to speak about the theft. But Emilie at once

interrupted him.

'Don't trouble yourself, it's all right. Auntie has just told me that

the principal things have been found.' (Madame Fritsche mumbled

something to herself and went out of the room.) 'And there was no need

to go to the police at all; but I can't control myself because I am

so ... You don't understand German? ... So quick, immer so rasch!

But I think no more about it ... aber auch gar nicht!'

Kuzma Vassilyevitch looked at Emilie. Her face indeed showed no trace

of care now. Everything was smiling in that pretty little face: the

eyes, fringed with almost white lashes, and the lips and the cheeks

and the chin and the dimples in the chin, and even the tip of her

turned-up nose. She went up to the little looking glass beside the

cupboard and, screwing up her eyes and humming through her teeth,

began tidying her hair. Kuzma Vassilyevitch followed her movements

intently.... He found her very charming.

VIII

'You must excuse me,' she began again, turning from side to side

before the looking glass, 'for having so ... brought you home with me.

Perhaps you dislike it?'

'Oh, not at all!'

'As I have told you already, I am so quick. I act first and think

afterwards, though sometimes I don't think at all.... What is your

name, Mr. Officer? May I ask you?' she added going up to him and

folding her arms.

'My name is Kuzma Vassilyevitch Yergunov.'

'Yergu.... Oh, it's not a nice name! I mean it's difficult for me. I

shall call you Mr. Florestan. At Riga we had a Mr. Florestan. He sold

capital gros-de-Naples in his shop and was a handsome man, as

good-looking as you. But how broad-shouldered you are! A regular

sturdy Russian! I like the Russians.... I am a Russian myself ... my

papa was an officer. But my hands are whiter than yours!' She raised

them above her head, waved them several times in the air, so as to

drive the blood from them, and at once dropped them. 'Do you see? I

wash them with Greek scented soap.... Sniff! Oh, but don't kiss

them.... I did not do it for that.... Where are you serving?'

'In the fleet, in the nineteenth Black Sea company.'

'Oh, you are a sailor! Well, do you get a good salary?'

'No ... not very.'

'You must be very brave. One can see it at once from your eyes. What

thick eyebrows you've got! They say you ought to grease them with lard

overnight to make them grow. But why have you no moustache?'

'It's against the regulations.'

'Oh, that's not right! What's that you've got, a dagger?'

'It's a cutlass; a cutlass, so to say, is the sailor's weapon.'

'Ah, a cutlass! Is it sharp? May I look?' With an effort, biting her