everyone would understand what feeling had made him come there. The electric lights, the loud music, the smell of powder, and the fact that the ladies he met stared at him, made him feel sick. He stopped by doorways, trying to see and hear what was going on in the private rooms, and it seemed to him that, along with the coupleteer and those ladies, he was playing some low, contemptible role. Then he went to the Strelna, but did not meet any of his people there, either, and it was only when he drove up to the Yar again on his way back that a troika noisily overtook him; the drunken driver was shouting, and he could hear Yartsev’s guffaw: ‘‘Ha, ha, ha!’’
Laptev came home after three. Yulia Sergeevna was already in bed. Noticing that she was not asleep, he went up to her and said sharply:
‘‘I understand your loathing, your hatred, but you might spare me in front of others, you might conceal your feelings.’’
She sat up in bed and hung her legs over the side. In the light of the icon lamp, her eyes looked big and dark.
‘‘I ask your forgiveness,’’ she said.
From agitation and the trembling of his whole body, he could no longer utter a single word but stood before her in silence. She was also trembling and sat looking like a criminal, waiting for a talking to.
‘‘How I suffer!’’ he said at last and clutched his head. ‘‘It’s like I’m in hell, I’ve lost my mind!’’
‘‘And is it easy for me?’’ she asked in a quavering voice. ‘‘God alone knows what it’s like for me.’’
‘‘You’ve been my wife for half a year now, but there’s not even a spark of love in your soul, no hope, no bright spot! Why did you marry me?’’ Laptev went on in despair. ‘‘Why? What demon pushed you into my arms? What did you hope for? What did you want?’’
She looked at him in terror, as if she was afraid he would kill her.
‘‘Was I pleasing to you? Did you love me?’’ he went on breathlessly. ‘‘No! What was it, then? What? Tell me— what?’’ he shouted. ‘‘Oh, cursed money! Cursed money!’’
‘‘No, I swear to God!’’ she cried and crossed herself; she shrank under the insult, and for the first time he heard her weep. ‘‘No, I swear to God!’’ she repeated. ‘‘I didn’t think of money, I don’t need it, I simply thought that if I refused you, it would be a bad thing to do. I was afraid to ruin your life and mine. And now I’m suffering for my mistake, suffering unbearably!’’
She sobbed bitterly, and he realized how painful it was for her, and not knowing what to say, he sank down on the rug before her.
‘‘Enough, enough,’’ he murmured. ‘‘I insulted you because I love you madly,’’ he suddenly kissed her foot and embraced it passionately. ‘‘At least a spark of love!’’ he murmured. ‘‘Well, lie to me! Lie! Don’t tell me it was a mistake!...’
But she went on weeping, and he felt that she tolerated his caresses only as an inevitable consequence of her mistake. And the foot he had kissed, she drew under her like a bird. He felt sorry for her.
She lay down and pulled the covers over her head; he undressed and also lay down. In the morning they both felt embarrassed and did not know what to talk about, and it even seemed to him that she stepped gingerly on the foot he had kissed.
Before dinner Panaurov came to say good-bye. Yulia felt an irrepressible desire to go home to her birthplace; it would be good, she thought, to rest from family life, from this embarrassment, and from the constant awareness that she had acted badly. Over dinner it was decided that she would leave with Panaurov and visit her father for two or three weeks, until she got bored.
XI
SHE AND PANAUROV traveled in a separate compartment; on his head was a visored lambskin cap of an odd shape.
‘‘No, Petersburg didn’t satisfy me,’’ he said measuredly, sighing. ‘‘They promise a lot but nothing definite. Yes, my dear. I was a justice of the peace, a permanent member, chairman of the district council, finally an adviser to the provincial board; it would seem I’ve served my fatherland and have a right to some consideration, but there you have it: I can’t get them to transfer me to another town...’
Panaurov closed his eyes and shook his head.
‘‘I’m not recognized,’’ he went on, as if falling asleep. ‘‘Of course, I’m not an administrative genius, but then I’m a decent, honest man, and in our times even that is a rare thing. I confess, I occasionally deceive women slightly, but in relation to the Russian government, I have always been a gentleman. But enough of that,’’ he said, opening his eyes, ‘‘let’s talk about you. Why did you suddenly take it into your head to go to your papa?’’
‘‘Oh, just a little disagreement with my husband,’’ said Yulia, looking at his cap.
‘‘Yes, he’s a bit odd. All the Laptevs are odd. Your husband’s all right, more or less, but his brother Fyodor is a complete fool.’’
Panaurov sighed and asked seriously:
‘‘And do you have a lover yet?’’
Yulia looked at him in astonishment and smiled.
‘‘God knows what you’re saying.’’
At a big station, after ten o’clock, they both got out and had supper. When the train rolled on again, Panaurov took off his coat and cap and sat down beside Yulia.
‘‘You’re very sweet, I must tell you,’’ he began. ‘‘Forgive me the tavern comparison, but you remind me of a freshly pickled cucumber; it still smells of the hotbed, so to speak, but already has a little salt and the scent of dill in it. You’re gradually shaping up into a magnificent woman, a wonderful, graceful woman. If this trip had taken place five years ago,’’ he sighed, ‘‘I would have felt it my pleasant duty to enter the ranks of your admirers, but now, alas, I’m an invalid.’’
He smiled sadly and at the same time graciously, and put his arm around her waist.
‘‘You’re out of your mind!’’ she said, flushing, and so frightened that her hands and feet went cold. ‘‘Stop it, Grigory Nikolaich!’’
