“Here is Mr. Trusotsky. Come in…”
XIV
SASHENKA AND NADENKA
Into the room came a very young man, of about nineteen, perhaps even somewhat less—so youthful seemed his handsome, confidently upturned face. He was not badly dressed, at least everything sat well on him; he was above medium height; thick black hair broken into locks, and big, bold dark eyes especially marked his physiognomy. Only his nose was a little too broad and upturned; had it not been for that, he would have been an altogether handsome fellow. He entered imposingly.
“I believe I have the—occasion—of speaking with Mr. Trusotsky?” he said measuredly, emphasizing the word “occasion” with particular pleasure, thereby letting it be known that there could be neither honor nor pleasure for him in talking with Mr. Trusotsky.
Velchaninov was beginning to understand; it seemed that Pavel Pavlovich, too, was already seeing some light. His face expressed uneasiness; however, he stood up for himself.
“Not having the honor of knowing you,” he answered with a dignified air, “I suppose that I cannot have any business with you, sir.”
“First you will hear me out, and then express your opinion,” the young man said confidently and didactically, and, taking out a tortoiseshell lorgnette which he had hanging on a string, he began scrutinizing through it the bottle of champagne standing on the table. Having calmly finished his examination of the bottle, he folded the lorgnette and, again addressing Pavel Pavlovich, said:
“Alexander Lobov.”
“And what is this Alexander Lobov, sir?”
“I am he. Haven’t you heard?”
“No, sir.”
“Anyway, how could you know. I’ve come with an important matter, which in fact concerns you; allow me to sit down, however, I’m tired…”
“Sit down,” Velchaninov invited—but the young man had managed to sit down before he was invited. Despite a growing pain in his chest, Velchaninov was intrigued by this impudent boy. In his pretty, childish, and ruddy face he glimpsed some distant resemblance to Nadya.
“You sit down, too,” the youth offered to Pavel Pavlovich, indicating the place opposite him with a casual nod.
“Never mind, sir, I’ll stand.”
“You’ll get tired. I suppose, Mr. Velchaninov, that you may not have to go.”
“I have nowhere to go. I live here.”
“As you will. I confess, I even wish you to be present at my talk with this gentleman. Nadezhda Fedoseevna has recommended you to me quite flatteringly.”
“Hah! When did she have time?”
“Just after you left. I’m coming from there, too. The thing is this, Mr. Trusotsky,” he turned to the standing Pavel Pavlovich, “we, that is, Nadezhda Fedoseevna and I,” he spoke through his teeth, sprawling casually in the armchair, “have long been in love and have pledged ourselves to each other. You are now a hindrance between us; I’ve come to suggest that you vacate that place. Will you be pleased to accept my suggestion?”
Pavel Pavlovich even swayed; he turned pale, but a sarcastic smile at once forced itself to his lips.
“No, sir, not at all pleased,” he snapped laconically.
“Well, now!” the youth turned in the armchair and crossed one leg over the other.
“I don’t even know with whom I am speaking, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich added, “I even think there is no reason for us to continue.”
Having spoken that out, he, too, found it necessary to sit down.
“I told you you’d get tired,” the youth observed casually. “I just had occasion to inform you that my name is Lobov and that Nadezhda Fedoseevna and I have pledged ourselves to each other—consequently, you can’t say, as you just did, that you don’t know whom you are dealing with; nor can you think that we have nothing to continue talking about; not to mention me—the matter concerns Nadezhda Fedoseevna, whom you are so insolently pestering. And that alone already constitutes a sufficient reason for explanations.”
All this he said through his teeth, like a fop, even barely deigning to articulate the words; he even took out the lorgnette again and, while speaking, directed it at something for a moment.
“Excuse me, young man…” Pavel Pavlovich exclaimed vexedly, but the “young man” at once checked him.
“At any other time I would, of course, forbid you to call me ‘young man,’ but now, you must agree, my youth is my chief advantage over you, and you might have wished very much—today, for instance, as you were presenting the bracelet—that you were at least a little bit younger.”
“Ah, you sprat!” Velchaninov whispered.
“In any case, my dear sir,” Pavel Pavlovich corrected himself with dignity, “I still do not find the reasons you have presented—improper and quite dubious reasons—sufficient for the dispute over them to be continued, sir. I see this is all a childish and empty matter; tomorrow I will make inquiries of the most esteemed Fedosei Semyonovich, but now I beg you to spare me, sir.”
“See how the man is!” the youth cried out at once, unable to sustain the tone, hotly addressing Velchaninov. “It’s not enough that he’s chased away from there and they stick their tongues out at him—he also wants to denounce us tomorrow to the old man! Don’t you prove by that, you obstinate man, that you want to take the girl by force, buying her from people who have lost their minds, but, owing to social barbarism, have kept their power over her? She has shown well enough, it seems, that she despises you; wasn’t today’s indecent gift—your bracelet—returned to you? What more do you want?”
“No one returned any bracelet to me, and that cannot be,” Pavel Pavlovich gave a start.
