They both settled themselves on the divan among the cushions, in weariness.
“You weren’t sharp enough! you can’t have had much practice in racing. You ought to have stood up as I did; then the ups and downs amount to nothing.”
“Even we are rather tired.” says Beaumont to Kirsánof. They sat down by their wives. Kirsánof threw his arm around Viéra Pavlovna. Beaumont took Katerina Vasílyevna’s hand. It was an idyllic picture. It is pleasant to see happy unions. But a shadow crossed the face of the lady in mourning for one moment, so that none except one of her young companions noticed it. He went to the window and began to study the arabesques made by the frost on the glass.
“Mesdames, your stories are very interesting, but I can’t hear what you say; all I know is that they are very pathetic but that they end happily; I like that! But where is my dear little old man?”
“He is busy about the house; he is getting lunch ready; this always amuses him,” said Katerina Vasílyevna.
“Well, in that case, God be with him! Tell me your story, please, but briefly; I like to be told things in few words.”
“I shall relate very briefly.” says Viéra Pavlovna; “let me begin. When it is the others’ turn, let them tell theirs. But I will tell you beforehand that there are secrets at the end of my story.”
“Well, then we’ll drive out these gentlemen. Or perhaps it would be better to drive them out now!”
“No; now they can listen.”
Viéra Pavlovna began her story.
“Ha! ha! ha! This sweet Julie, I love her dearly!” and she throws herself down on her knees and she carries on and behaves herself terribly. “She is lovely!”
Bravo, Viéra Pavlovna! “I am going to jump out of the window! Bravo, gentlemen!” The lady in mourning clapped her hands. At this command the young people applauded deafeningly, with shouts of “hurrah!” and “bravo!”
“What’s got into you? What’s got into you?” said Katerina Vasílyevna, in affright two or three minutes later.
“No, it’s nothing much! it’ll pass. Give me a glass of water! Don’t bother yourself; Mosolof is bringing me some. Thank you, Mosolof!” She took the water brought her by her young companion who had been standing by the window. “Do you see how I have taught him? He knows everything beforehand. Now I feel all well again. Go ahead, please; I’m listening!”
“No, but I am tired,” she said, five minutes later, calmly getting up from the divan. “I must have a nap for an hour or so. You see I am going without any ceremony. Come, Mosolof, let us find the dear little old man; he will give me a place.”
“Excuse me, why shouldn’t I do it?” asked Katerina Vasílyevna.
“Is it worth while to trouble you?”
“Are you going to give us up entirely?” asked one of the young men, taking a tragical pose. “If we had foreseen it, we should have brought daggers with us. But now we have nothing to stab ourselves with.”
“When lunch is ready, we will take the forks for daggers!” shouted another, with the enthusiasm of unexpected salvation.
“Oh, no, I do not want the hope of our fatherland should be prematurely destroyed,” said the lady in mourning, in the same excess of enthusiasm. “Be consoled, my children!—Mosolof, put the small cushion on the table.”
Mosolof put the cushion on the table. The lady in mourning was standing by the table, in a graceful position, and slowly dropped her hand to the cushion.
The young folks kissed her hand.
Katerina Vasílyevna went to find a room for the weary guest.
“Poor girl!” said the three young men, who had been with her in the shop, with one accord, when she left the parlor.
“She is a brave woman!” said the three young men.
“I should say she was,” said Mosolof, with a sense of satisfaction.
“Have you known her long?”
“Three years.”
“Do you know her well?”
“Yes.—Don’t be disturbed,” he added, addressing those who were in the sleigh; “it’s only because she is tired.”
Viéra Pavlovna exchanged significant glances with her husband and Beaumont, and shook her head.
“It’s absurd to say she is tired,” said Kirsánof.
“I assure you she is tired, that’s all. She will fall asleep, and it will all pass,” repeated Mosolof, in a calm and indifferent tone.
In ten minutes Katerina Vasílyevna came back.
“How is she?” asked six voices. Mosolof did not ask.
“She went to bed and shut her eyes, and now she must be asleep.”
“I told you so,” said Mosolof; “it’s a mere trifle.”
“Still, I am sorry for her,” said Katerina Vasílyevna. “We will watch her by turns: you and I, Viérotchka, and Charlie and Sasha.”
“Don’t let this interfere with our fun,” said Mosolof. “We can dance, and shout, and sing; she sleeps very sound.”
If she sleeps, if it is a mere trifle, then what does it mean? The disturbing impression caused for quarter of an hour, by the lady in mourning, vanished and was forgotten—not absolutely, but almost. The party, even in her absence, little by little took the character of all the similar parties which had been held during the winter, and it became gay. Gay, but not without restraint. At least, the ladies half a dozen times exchanged looks of serious solemnity. Twice Viéra Pavlovna whispered stealthily, “Sasha, suppose something of this sort should happen to me?”
Kirsánof, the first time, could not find an answer. But the second time he succeeded. “No, Viéra, nothing of this sort could happen to you.”
“Cannot? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
And Katerina Vasílyevna twice whispered to her husband stealthily, “Charlie, this could not happen to me, could it?”
The first time Beaumont only smiled, not gayly and not reassuringly; the second time he also succeeded in saying, “By all probability, it could not.”
And these were only occasional echoes, and then only at first. But for the most part the evening was spent gayly; in half an hour it was quite gay. They talked, played, sang. “She is sound asleep,” says Mosolof, and he takes the lead. And
