“But who told you, Charlie, that I have been thinking about it for more than three days?” she replied, not letting go his hand.
“Yes, of course, I saw it; but still I will tell you now—I have a secret; let us go to that room, and sit down there, so that he can’t hear.”
The end of this began to take place when they passed the old man. The old man saw that they were walking hand in hand, which had never happened to them before, and he thought: “He has asked her hand, and she has promised. Good!”
“Tell me your secret, Charlie; papa will not hear from there.”
“It seems absurd, Katerina Vasílyevna that I appear to be afraid of you; of course there is nothing to be afraid of. But you will understand why I caution you when I tell you that I have an example in mind. Of course you see that we shall be able to live together; but I pitied her. How much she suffered, and how long she was deprived of life which was necessary to her! It was pitiful; I saw with my own eyes. Where it was makes no difference—New York, Boston, Philadelphia—you know—it’s no matter; but she was a very excellent woman, and she looked upon her husband as an excellent man. They were exceedingly attached to each other; yet, still she had to suffer a great deal. He was ready to give his life for the least increase of her happiness, but, for all that, she could not live happily with him. It was well that it ended as it did, but it was hard for her. You have not experienced any such thing, and so I shall not accept your answer.”
“Could I hear this story from anybody?”
“Perhaps so.”
“From the woman herself?”
“Perhaps so.”
“And I have not given you any answer yet?”
“No.”
“Do you know what it will be?”
“I do,” said Beaumont, and then began an ordinary scene, proper between “bridegroom” and “bride,” with kisses.
XIX
On the next day at three o’clock Katerina Vasílyevna went to Viéra Pavlovna.
“I am to be married day after tomorrow, Viéra Pavlovna,” she said as she entered; “and this evening I am going to bring my bridegroom to see you.”
“Beaumont, of course, whom you have been crazy over this long time.”
“I, crazy? When everything passed off so quietly and reasonably!”
“I thoroughly believe that you talked with him very quietly and sensibly; but with me, quite otherwise.”
“Really, this is interesting! But here is something more interesting: he loves you very much—both of you; but you, Viéra Pavlovna, much more than Aleksandr Matvéitch.”
“Is there anything interesting in that? If you have spoken to him about me with a thousandth part of the enthusiasm with which you have spoken about him to me then, of course—”
“Do you think that he knows you through me? Here’s where the fun comes in, that he knows you personally, not through me, but far better than I do.”
“That’s news! How is that?”
“How? I am going to tell you right away. The very first day that he came to Petersburg he was very anxious to see you, but it seemed to him that it would be better to postpone the acquaintance till he should come to you, not by himself, but with a ‘bride’ or a wife. It seemed to him that it would be pleasanter for you to see him with a wife than single. You see that our engagement came about through his desire to make your acquaintance.”
“He marries you so as to get acquainted with me!”
“The idea! who says that he marries me for your sake? Oh, no! we get married, of course, not from love to you. But did we know of each other’s existence until he came to Petersburg, and if he had not come, how should we have got acquainted? But he came to Petersburg for your sake! How absurd you are!”
“Does he speak Russian better than English?” asked Viéra Pavlovna, in excitement.
“He speaks Russian just as I do, and English just as I do.”
“My dear Kátenka, how glad I am!” Viéra Pavlovna threw her arms around her guest.—“Sasha, come here! hurry, hurry!”
“What is it, Viérotchka? How d’ye do, Katerina Vas—”
He had no chance to speak her whole name before the young lady was kissing him.
“Today is Easter, Sasha. Say to Kátenka, ‘Indeed, he is risen.’ ”112
“But what is this all about?”
“Sit down, and she will tell you everything. And I myself have not heard all I want about it. That’ll do; you have had enough kisses! and before me too! Now tell us, Kátenka!”
XX
There was still more riotous conduct during the evening; but when order was restored, Beaumont, by the request of his new acquaintance, began to tell the story of his life after he came to the United States.
“As soon as I got there,” said he, “I took pains to become naturalized. For that purpose, I had to make friends with some party. What do you suppose it was? Naturally, the Abolitionists. I wrote several articles for the Tribune about the influence of slavery upon the whole state of society in Russia. This, a new argument, was not a bad one, for the Abolitionists to use against slavery in the Southern States, and I became a citizen of Massachusetts. Soon after my arrival, I found a position in the office of one of the few large firms belonging to that party in New York.” Further, he told them the same story which we already know. At least, this part of Beaumont’s biography cannot be doubted.
XXI
That very evening they made an agreement that the two families should look for apartments which should be adjoining. In the expectation of finding and arranging suitable apartments, the Beaumonts lived in the factory, where, according to the orders given by the firm, rooms
