“No, no, no …” she protested, laughing and shaking her earrings, with tears in her eyes. But he filled her glass and she drank it and coughed, still protesting.
“Thank you, thank you,” she chattered as Bohun dived under the table and found her bag for her. I saw that he did not like the crayfish soup, and was distressed because he had so large a helping.
He blushed and looked at his plate, then began again to eat and stopped.
“Don’t you like it?” one of the giggling girls asked him. “But it’s very good. Have another ‘Pie!’ ”
The meal continued. There were little suckling pigs with kasha, a kind of brown buckwheat. Everyone was gayer and gayer. Now all talked at once, and no one listened to anything that anyone else said. Of them all, Nina was by far the gayest. She had drunk no wine—she always said that she could not bear the nasty stuff, and although everyone tried to persuade her, telling her that now when you could not get it anywhere, it was wicked not to drink it, she would not change her mind. It was simply youth and happiness that radiated from her, and also perhaps some other excitement for which I could not account. Grogoff tried to make her drink. She defied him. He came over to her chair, but she pushed him away, and then lightly slapped his cheek. Everyone laughed. Then he whispered something to her. For an instant the gaiety left her eyes. “You shouldn’t say that!” she answered almost angrily. He went back to his seat. I was sitting next to her, and she was very charming to me, seeing that I had all that I needed and showing that she liked me. “You mustn’t be gloomy and ill and miserable,” she whispered to me. “Oh! I’ve seen you! There’s no need. Come to us and we’ll make you as happy as we can—Vera and I. … We both love you.”
“My dear, I’m much too old and stupid for you to bother about!”
She put her hand on my arm. “I know that I’m wicked and care only for pleasure. … Vera’s always saying so. But I can be better if you want me to be.”
This was flattering, but I knew that it was only her general happiness that made her talk like that. And at once she was after something else. “Your Englishman,” she said, looking across the table at Lawrence, “I like his face. I should be frightened of him, though.”
“Oh no, you wouldn’t,” I answered. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
She continued to look at him and he, glancing up, their eyes met. She smiled and he smiled. Then he raised his glass and drank.
“I mustn’t drink,” she called across the table. “It’s only water and that’s bad luck.”
“Oh, you can challenge any amount of bad luck—I’m sure,” he called back to her.
I fancied that Grogoff did not like this. He was drinking a great deal. He roughly called Nina’s attention.
“Nina … Ah—Nina!”
But she, although I am certain that she heard him, paid no attention.
He called again more loudly:
“Nina … Nina!”
“Well?” She turned towards him, her eyes laughing at him.
“Drink my health.”
“I can’t. I have only water.”
“Then you must drink wine.”
“I won’t. I detest it.”
“But you must.”
He came over to her and poured a little red wine into her water. She turned and emptied the glass over his hand. For an instant his face was dark with rage.
“I’ll pay you for that,” I heard him whisper.
She shrugged her shoulders. “He’s tiresome, Boris. …” she said, “I like your Englishman better.”
We were ever gayer and gayer. There were now of course no cakes nor biscuits, but there was jam with our tea, and there were even some chocolates. I noticed that Vera and Lawrence were getting on together famously. They talked and laughed, and her eyes were full of pleasure.
Markovitch came up and stood behind them, watching them. His eyes devoured his wife.
“Vera!” he said suddenly.
“Yes!” she cried. She had not known that he was behind her; she was startled. She turned round and he came forward and kissed her hand. She let him do this, as she let him do everything, with the indulgence that one allows a child. He stood, afterwards, half in the shadow, watching her.
And now the moment for the event of the evening had arrived. The doors of Markovitch’s little workroom were suddenly opened, and there—instead of the shabby untidy dark little hole—there was a splendid Christmas tree blazing with a hundred candles. Coloured balls and frosted silver and wooden figures of red and blue hung all about the tree—it was most beautifully done. On a table close at hand were presents. We all clapped our hands. We were childishly delighted. The old great-aunt cried with pleasure. Boris Grogoff suddenly looked like a happy boy of ten. Happiest and proudest of them all was Markovitch. He stood there, a large pair of scissors in his hand, waiting to cut the string round the parcels. We said again and again, “Marvellous!” “Wonderful!” “Splendid!” … “But this year—however did you find it, Vera Michailovna?” “To take such trouble! …” “Splendid! Splendid!” Then we were given our presents. Vera, it was obvious had chosen them, for there was taste and discrimination in the choice of every one. Mine was a little old religious figure in beaten silver—Lawrence had a silver snuffbox. … Everyone was delighted. We clapped our hands. We shouted. Someone cried “Cheers for our host and hostess!”
We gave them, and in no half measure. We shouted. Boris Grogoff cried, “More cheers!”
It was then that I saw Markovitch’s face that had been puckered with pleasure like the face of a delighted child suddenly stiffen, his hand moved forward, then dropped. I turned and found, standing in the doorway, quietly watching us, Alexei Petrovitch Semyonov.
XIII
I stared at him. I could not take my eyes away. I instantly forgot everyone else, the room, the tree, the lights. … With a force,
