“I think he promised to come,” said Elena indecisively.
“Yes,” answered Elisaveta, “I think he said something at that strange mirror.”
“It was earlier,” observed Elena.
“Yes, I am mixing it all up,” said Elisaveta. “I don’t understand how I could forget so quickly.”
“I too am tangling things up badly,” confessed Elena, astonished at herself. “I feel very tired, I don’t know why.”
The soft noise of wheels over a sandy road grew closer and closer. At last a light trap, drawn by a horse in English harness, could be seen turning into the alley of birches and stopping before the house. The sisters rose nervously. Their faces wore their habitually pleasant smiles and their hands did not tremble.
Trirodov gave the reins to Kirsha, who drove away.
The meeting proved an embarrassing one. The sisters’ agitation was evident in their polite, empty phrases. They entered the drawing-room. Presently Rameyev, accompanied by the Matov brothers, came in to welcome the guest. There was the usual exchange of compliments, of meaningless phrases—as everywhere, as always.
Piotr was uneasy and hostile. He spoke abruptly and with evident unwillingness. Misha looked on with curiosity. He liked Trirodov—he had already heard something about him which assured pleasant relations between them.
The conversation developed rapidly and politely. Not a word was said about the sisters’ visit to Trirodov.
“We’ve heard a great deal about you,” began Rameyev, “I’m glad to know you.”
Trirodov smiled, and his smile seemed slightly derisive. Elisaveta remarked:
“I suppose you think our being glad to see you merely a polite phrase.”
There was sharpness in her voice. Elisaveta, realizing this, suddenly flushed. Rameyev looked at her in astonishment.
“No, I don’t think that,” put in Trirodov. “There’s real pleasure in meeting.”
“That’s the usual thing to say in polite society,” said Piotr quietly.
Trirodov glanced at him with a smile and turned to Rameyev.
“I say it in all sincerity, I am glad to have made your acquaintance. I live very much alone and so am all the more glad of the fortunate circumstance that has brought me here on a matter of business.”
“Business?” asked Rameyev in astonishment.
“I can put the matter in a few words,” said Trirodov. “I wish to extend my estate.”
There was a tinge of sadness in Rameyev’s answer:
“You have bought the better part of the Prosianiya Meadows.”
Trirodov said:
“It’s not quite large enough. I should like to acquire the rest of it—for my colony.”
“I shouldn’t like to let the rest go,” remarked Rameyev. “It belongs to Piotr and Misha.”
“As far as it concerns me,” put in Piotr, “I’d sell my share with the greatest pleasure before those ‘comrade’ fellows take it from me for nothing.”
Misha was silent, but it was evident that the thought of selling his native soil was distasteful to him. He seemed on the point of bursting into tears.
“In my opinion,” observed Rameyev, “the land needn’t be sold. I shouldn’t advise it. I wouldn’t think of selling Misha’s share until he came of age—and I shouldn’t advise you to sell yours either, Piotr.”
Misha, gladdened, glanced gratefully at Rameyev, who continued:
“I can direct you to another plot of land which happens to be on sale. I hope it will suit your needs.”
Trirodov thanked him.
His educational institution now became the topic of conversation.
“Your school, of course, brings you into contact with the Headmaster of the National Schools. How do you manage to get along with him?” asked Rameyev.
Trirodov smiled contemptuously.
“Not at all,” he said.
“A clumsy person, this fellow with his feminine voice,” went on Rameyev. “He’s an ambitious, cold-blooded man. He’s likely to do you an injury.”
“I’m used to it,” answered Trirodov calmly. “We are all used to it.”
“They might close your school,” suggested Piotr in a tone of sharp derision.
“And again they might not,” asserted Trirodov.
“But if they should?” persisted Piotr.
“Let us hope for the best,” said Rameyev.
Elisaveta looked affectionately at her father. But Trirodov said quietly in his own defence:
“The school might be closed, but it is hard to prevent anyone from living on the soil and running a farm. If the school should cease being a mere school and become an educational farm, it would succeed in replacing the large farms as they are now run by their proprietors.”
“But that is Utopia,” said Piotr in some irritation.
“Very well, then, we’ll establish Utopia,” said Trirodov, unruffled.
“But as a beginning you hope to destroy what exists?” asked Piotr.
“Why?” exclaimed Trirodov, astonished.
Strangely agitated, Piotr said:
“The comrades’ proposed division of land, if carried into force, would lead to a crushing of culture and science.”
“I don’t understand this alarm for science and culture,” replied Trirodov. “Both one and the other are sufficiently strong to stand up for themselves.”
“Nevertheless,” argued Piotr, “monuments of civilization are being demolished by this Kham8 who is trying to replace us.”
“It is not our monuments of civilization alone that are being destroyed,” retorted Trirodov patiently. “This is very sad, of course, and proper measures should be taken. But the sufferings of the people are so great. … The value of human life is, after all, greater than the value of such monuments.”
In this peculiarly Russian manner the conversation quickly passed on to general themes. Trirodov, who took a large share in it, spoke with a calm assurance. They listened to him with deep attention.
Of his five auditors only Piotr was not captivated. He was tormented by a feeling of hostility to Trirodov. He glanced at Trirodov with suspicion and hate. He was exasperated by Trirodov’s confident tone and facile speech. Piotr’s remarks addressed to the visitor were often caustic, even coarse. Rameyev looked vexed at Piotr now and then, but Trirodov appeared not to notice his sallies, and was simple, tranquil, and courteous. In the end Piotr was compelled to restrain himself and abandon his sharp manner. Then he grew silent altogether. After Trirodov’s departure Piotr left the room. It was evident that he did not wish to join in any discussion about the visitor.
VIII
The day was hot, sultry, windless—helplessly prostrate before
