White Nights and Other Stories / The Novels of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Volume X

'Arkasha, it's settled.'

'Vasya, boy, I only wanted to say this. You see, Vasya—listen, bandy-legs, listen!...'

Arkady stopped, with his mouth open, because he could not speak for delight. Vasya held him by the shoulders, gazed into his face and moved his lips, as though he wanted to speak for him.

'Well,' he brought out at last.

'Introduce me to them to-day.'

'Arkady, let us go to tea there. I tell you what, I tell you what. We won't even stay to see in the New Year, we'll come away earlier,' cried Vasya, with genuine inspiration.

'That is, we'll go for two hours, neither more nor less....'

'And then separation till I have finished....'

'Vasya, boy!'

'Arkady!'

Three minutes later Arkady was dressed in his best. Vasya did nothing but brush himself, because he had been in such haste to work that he had not changed his trousers.

They hurried out into the street, each more pleased than the other. Their way lay from the Petersburg Side to Kolomna. Arkady Ivanovitch stepped out boldly and vigorously, so that from his walk alone one could see how glad he was at the good fortune of his friend, who was more and more radiant with happiness. Vasya trotted along with shorter steps, though his deportment was none the less dignified. Arkady Ivanovitch, in fact, had never seen him before to such advantage. At that moment he actually felt more respect for him, and Vasya's physical defect, of which the reader is not yet aware (Vasya was slightly deformed), which always called forth a feeling of loving sympathy in Arkady Ivanovitch's kind heart, contributed to the deep tenderness the latter felt for him at this moment, a tenderness of which Vasya was in every way worthy. Arkady Ivanovitch felt ready to weep with happiness, but he restrained himself.

'Where are you going, where are you going, Vasya? It is nearer this way,' he cried, seeing that Vasya was making in the direction of Voznesenky.

'Hold your tongue, Arkasha.'

'It really is nearer, Vasya.'

'Do you know what, Arkasha?' Vasya began mysteriously, in a voice quivering with joy, 'I tell you what, I want to take Lizanka a little present.'

'What sort of present?'

'At the corner here, brother, is Madame Leroux's, a wonderful shop.'

'Well.'

'A cap, my dear, a cap; I saw such a charming little cap to-day. I inquired, I was told it was the facon Manon Lescaut—a delightful thing. Cherry-coloured ribbons, and if it is not dear ... Arkasha, even if it is dear....'

'I think you are superior to any of the poets, Vasya. Come along.'

They ran along, and two minutes later went into the shop. They were met by a black-eyed Frenchwoman with curls, who, from the first glance at her customers, became as joyous and happy as they, even happier, if one may say so. Vasya was ready to kiss Madame Leroux in his delight....

'Arkasha,' he said in an undertone, casting a casual glance at all the grand and beautiful things on little wooden stands on the huge table, 'lovely things! What's that? What's this? This one, for instance, this little sweet, do you see?' Vasya whispered, pointing to a charming cap further away, which was not the one he meant to buy, because he had already from afar descried and fixed his eyes upon the real, famous one, standing at the other end. He looked at it in such a way that one might have supposed some one was going to steal it, or as though the cap itself might take wings and fly into the air just to prevent Vasya from obtaining it.

'Look,' said Arkady Ivanovitch, pointing to one, 'I think that's better.'

'Well, Arkasha, that does you credit; I begin to respect you for your taste,' said Vasya, resorting to cunning with Arkasha in the tenderness of his heart, 'your cap is charming, but come this way.'

'Where is there a better one, brother?'

'Look; this way.'

'That,' said Arkady, doubtfully.

But when Vasya, incapable of restraining himself any longer, took it from the stand from which it seemed to fly spontaneously, as though delighted at falling at last into the hands of so good a customer, and they heard the rustle of its ribbons, ruches and lace, an unexpected cry of delight broke from the powerful chest of Arkady Ivanovitch. Even Madame Leroux, while maintaining her incontestable dignity and pre-eminence in matters of taste, and remaining mute from condescension, rewarded Vasya with a smile of complete approbation, everything in her glance, gesture and smile saying at once: 'Yes, you have chosen rightly, and are worthy of the happiness which awaits you.'

'It has been dangling its charms in coy seclusion,' cried Vasya, transferring his tender feelings to the charming cap. 'You have been hiding on purpose, you sly little pet!' And he kissed it, that is the air surrounding it, for he was afraid to touch his treasure.

'Retiring as true worth and virtue,' Arkady added enthusiastically, quoting humorously from a comic paper he had read that morning. 'Well, Vasya?'

'Hurrah, Arkasha! You are witty to-day. I predict you will make a sensation, as women say. Madame Leroux, Madame Leroux!'

'What is your pleasure?'

'Dear Madame Leroux.'

Madame Leroux looked at Arkady Ivanovitch and smiled condescendingly.

'You wouldn't believe how I adore you at this moment.... Allow me to give you a kiss....' And Vasya kissed the shopkeeper.

She certainly at that moment needed all her dignity to maintain her position with such a madcap. But I contend that the innate, spontaneous courtesy and grace with which Madame Leroux received Vasya's enthusiasm, was equally befitting. She forgave him, and how tactfully, how graciously, she knew how to behave in the circumstances. How could she have been angry with Vasya?

'Madame Leroux, how much?'

'Five roubles in silver,' she answered, straightening herself with a new smile.

'And this one, Madame Leroux?' said Arkady Ivanovitch, pointing to his choice.

'That one is eight roubles.'

'There, you see—there, you see! Come, Madame Leroux, tell me which is nicer, more graceful, more charming, which of them suits you best?'

'The second is richer, but your choice c'est plus coquet.'

'Then we will take it.'

Madame Leroux took a sheet of very delicate paper, pinned it up, and the paper with the cap wrapped in it seemed even lighter than the paper alone. Vasya took it carefully, almost holding his breath, bowed to Madame Leroux, said something else very polite to her and left the shop.

'I am a lady's man, I was born to be a lady's man,' said Vasya, laughing a little noiseless, nervous laugh and dodging the passers-by, whom he suspected of designs for crushing his precious cap.

'Listen, Arkady, brother,' he began a minute later, and there was a note of triumph, of infinite affection in his voice. 'Arkady, I am so happy, I am so happy!'

'Vasya! how glad I am, dear boy!'

'No, Arkasha, no. I know that there is no limit to your affection for me; but you cannot be feeling one- hundredth part of what I am feeling at this moment. My heart is so full, so full! Arkasha, I am not worthy of such happiness. I feel that, I am conscious of it. Why has it come to me?' he said, his voice full of stifled sobs. 'What have I done to deserve it? Tell me. Look what lots of people, what lots of tears, what sorrow, what work-a-day life without a holiday, while I, I am loved by a girl like that, I.... But you will see her yourself immediately, you will appreciate her noble heart. I was born in a humble station, now I have a grade in the service and an independent income—my salary. I was born with a physical defect, I am a little deformed. See, she loves me as I am. Yulian Mastakovitch was so kind, so attentive, so gracious to-day; he does not often talk to me; he came up to me: 'Well, how goes it, Vasya' (yes, really, he called me Vasya), 'are you going to have a good time for the holiday, eh?' he