—Nadya almost started in fright, and even recoiled a little; a blush poured over her cheeks, and at the same moment Velchaninov saw something as if responsive flash in her embarrassed and almost abashed little face. Fascination, and at the same time perplexity, showed on the faces of all the listening girls as well; to everyone it seemed as if impossible and shameful to sing like that, and at the same time all these little faces and eyes burned and shone as if waiting for something more. Among these faces there especially flashed before Velchaninov the face of Katerina Fedoseevna, which had become almost beautiful.
“Some romance!” muttered old Zakhlebinin, slightly taken aback. “But… isn’t it too strong? Pleasant, but strong…”
“Strong…” Mme. Zakhlebinin echoed, but Pavel Pavlovich did not let her finish: he suddenly popped forward and, as if mad, forgetting himself so much that with his own hand he seized Nadya by the hand and drew her away from Velchaninov, he then leaped up to him and stared at him like a lost man, moving his trembling lips.
“For one moment, sir,” he finally managed to utter.
Velchaninov saw clearly that in another moment this gentleman might venture on something ten times more absurd; he quickly took him by the arm and, ignoring the general perplexity, led him out to the balcony and even took several steps with him down to the garden, where it was already almost completely dark.
“Do you understand that you must leave with me right now, this very minute!” Pavel Pavlovich said.
“No, I don’t…”
“Do you remember,” Pavel Pavlovich went on in his frenetic whisper, “do you remember how you demanded once that I tell you everything,
Velchaninov reflected, glanced once more at Pavel Pavlovich, and agreed to leave.
Their suddenly announced departure upset the parents and made all the girls terribly indignant.
“At least another cup of tea,” Mme. Zakhlebinin moaned plaintively.
“Why did you get so upset?” the old man, in a stern and displeased tone, addressed the grinning and stubbornly silent Pavel Pavlovich.
“Pavel Pavlovich, why are you taking Alexei Ivanovich away?” the girls cooed plaintively, at the same time glancing at him with bitterness. And Nadya looked at him so angrily that he cringed all over, yet—he did not yield.
“But in fact, Pavel Pavlovich—and I thank him for it—has reminded me of an extremely important matter, which I might have let slip,” Velchaninov laughed, shaking hands with the host, bowing to the hostess and to the girls, and, as if especially among them, to Katerina Fedoseevna, which again was noticed by everyone.
“We thank you for coming and will always be glad to see you, all of us,” Zakhlebinin concluded weightily.
“Ah, we’re so glad…” the mother of the family picked up with feeling.
“Come again, Alexei Ivanovich, come again!” many voices were heard from the balcony when he was already sitting in the carriage with Pavel Pavlovich; barely heard was one little voice, softer than all the others, that said: “Come again, dear, dear Alexei Ivanovich!”
“It’s the little redhead!” thought Velchaninov.
XIII
WHOSE SIDE HAS MORE ON IT
He was able to think about the little redhead, and yet vexation and repentance had long been wearying his soul. And during this whole day—spent so amusingly, one would have thought—sorrow had almost never left him. Before singing the romance, he had already not known where to escape from it; maybe that was why he had sung with such feeling.
“And I could stoop so low… break away from everything!” he began to reproach himself, but hastened to interrupt his thoughts. And it seemed so low to lament; it would have been much more pleasant to quickly get angry with someone.
“Mor-ron!” he whispered spitefully, glancing sideways at Pavel Pavlovich, who was silently sitting next to him in the carriage.
Pavel Pavlovich remained obstinately silent, perhaps concentrating and preparing himself. With an impatient gesture he occasionally took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
“He’s sweating!” Velchaninov kept up his spite.
Only once did Pavel Pavlovich advert to the coachman with a question: “Will there be a thunderstorm, or not?”
“Aye, and a good one! There’s bound to be, it was such a sultry day.” Indeed, the sky was darkening, and distant lightning flashed. They entered the city at half past ten.
“I’m going to your place, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich obligingly addressed Velchaninov, not far from his house.
“I understand; but I must warn you that I feel seriously unwell…”
“I won’t stay long, I won’t stay long!”
As they came through the gateway, Pavel Pavlovich ran over for a moment to Mavra at the caretaker’s.
“Why did you go there?” Velchaninov asked sternly when the man caught up with him and they went into his rooms.
“Never mind, sir, just so… the coachman, sir…”
“I won’t let you drink!”
No answer came. Velchaninov lit the candles, and Pavel Pavlovich settled at once into an armchair. Velchaninov
