IV
The billiard-room was full of tobacco-smoke. Peredonov, Routilov, Falastov, Volodin and Mourin were there. The last of these was a robust landed proprietor of stupid appearance; he was the owner of a small estate and a good business man. The five of them, having finished a game, were preparing to go.
It was dusk. The number of empty beer bottles on the soiled wooden table was increasing. The players had drunk a good deal during the game; their faces were flushed, and they were getting noisy. Routilov alone kept his usual consumptive pallor. He really drank less than the others and his pallor was only increased by heavy drinking.
Coarse words flew about the room. But no one was offended; it was all said among friends.
Peredonov had lost, as nearly always happened. He played billiards badly. But his face kept its expression of unperturbed moroseness and he paid his due grudgingly.
Mourin shouted out:
“Bang!”
And he aimed his billiard-cue at Peredonov. Peredonov exclaimed in fright and collapsed into a chair. The stupid idea that Mourin wanted to shoot him glimmered in his dull mind. Everyone laughed. Peredonov grumbled in irritation:
“I can’t stand jokes like that.”
Mourin was already regretting that he had frightened Peredonov. His son was attending the gymnasia and he considered it his duty to be affable to the gymnasia instructors. He began to apologise to Peredonov and treated him to hock and seltzer. Peredonov said morosely:
“My nerves are rather unstrung. I’m having trouble with the Headmaster.”
“The future inspector has lost,” exclaimed Volodin in his bleating voice. “He’s sorry for his money.”
“Unlucky in games, lucky in love,” said Routilov, smiling slightly and showing his decaying teeth.
This was the last straw. Peredonov had already lost money and had a fright and now they were taunting him about Varvara.
He exclaimed:
“I’ll get married and then Varka can clear out!”
His friends roared with laughter and continued provoking him:
“You won’t dare!”
“Yes I will dare: I’ll get married tomorrow!”
“Here’s a bet!” said Falastov. “I’ll bet ten roubles he doesn’t do it!”
But Peredonov thought of the money; if he lost he would have to pay. He turned away and lapsed into gloomy silence.
At the garden gates they parted and scattered in different directions. Peredonov and Routilov went together. Routilov began to persuade Peredonov to marry one of his sisters at once.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ve prepared everything,” he assured Peredonov.
“But the banns haven’t been published,” objected Peredonov.
“I tell you I’ve prepared everything,” argued Routilov. “I’ve found the right priest, who knows that you’re not related to us.”
“There are no bride-men,” said Peredonov.
“That’s quite true, but I can get them. All I have to do is to send for them and they’ll come to the church immediately. Or I’ll go after them myself. It wasn’t possible earlier, your cousin might have found out and hindered us.”
Peredonov did not reply. He looked gloomily about him, where, behind their drowsy little gardens and wavering hedges, loomed the dark shapes of a few scattered houses.
“You just wait at the gate,” said Routilov persuasively, “I’ll bring out the loveliest one—whichever one you like. Listen, I’ll prove it to you. Twice two is four, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” assented Peredonov.
“Well, as twice two is four, so it’s your duty to marry one of my sisters.”
Peredonov was impressed. “It’s quite true,” he thought, “of course, twice two is four.” And he looked respectfully at the shrewd Routilov. “Well, it’ll come to marrying one of them. You can’t argue with him.”
The friends at that moment reached the Routilovs’ house and stopped at the gate.
“Well, you can’t do it by force,” said Peredonov angrily.
“You’re a queer fellow,” exclaimed Routilov. “They’ve waited until they’re tired.”
“And perhaps I don’t want to!” said Peredonov.
“What do you mean by that? You are a queer chap. Are you going to be a shiftless fellow all your life?” asked Routilov. “Or are you getting ready to enter a monastery? Or aren’t you tired of Varya yet? Think what a face she’ll make when you bring your young wife home.”
Peredonov gave a cackle, but immediately frowned and said:
“And perhaps they also don’t want to?”
“What do you mean—they don’t want to? You are an odd fellow,” answered Routilov, “I give you my word.”
“They’ll be too proud,” objected Peredonov.
“Why should that bother you? It’s all the better.”
“They’re gigglers.”
“But they never giggle at your expense,” said Routilov comfortingly.
“How do I know?”
“You’d better believe me. I’m not fooling you. They respect you. After all you’re not a kind of Pavloushka, who’d make anybody laugh.”
“Yes, if I take your word for it,” said Peredonov incredulously. “But no, I want to be convinced myself.”
“Well, you are an odd fellow!” said Routilov in astonishment. “But how would they dare laugh at you? Still, is there any way I can prove it to you?”
Peredonov reflected and said:
“Let them come into the street at once.”
“Very well, that’s possible,” agreed Routilov.
“All three of them,” continued Peredonov.
“Very well.”
“And let each one say how she’ll please me.”
“Why all this?” asked Routilov in astonishment.
“I’ll find out what they want, and then you won’t lead me by the nose.”
“No one’s going to lead you by the nose.”
“Perhaps they’ll want to laugh at me,” argued Peredonov. “Now if they come out and want to laugh, it is I who’ll be able to laugh at them!”
Routilov reflected, pushed his hat on to the back of his head and then forward over his forehead, and said at last:
“All right, you wait here and I’ll go in and tell them—but you’re certainly an odd fellow. You’d better come into the front garden or else the devil’ll bring someone along the street and you’ll be seen.”
“I’ll spit on them,” said Peredonov. Nevertheless, he entered the gate.
Routilov went into the house to his sisters while Peredonov waited in the garden.
All the four sisters were sitting in the drawing-room, which was situated in the corner of the house that could be seen from
