exaggerating into something serious a slight trouble, in reality quite trivial. Only at eleven o'clock he reached the porter's lodge of Yulian Mastakovitch's house, to add his modest name to the long list of illustrious persons who had written their names on a sheet of blotted and scribbled paper in the porter's lodge. What was his surprise when he saw just above his own the signature of Vasya Shumkov! It amazed him. 'What's the matter with him?' he thought. Arkady Ivanovitch, who had just been so buoyant with hope, came out feeling upset. There was certainly going to be trouble, but how? And in what form?
He reached the Artemyevs with gloomy forebodings; he seemed absent-minded from the first, and after talking a little with Lizanka went away with tears in his eyes; he was really anxious about Vasya. He went home running, and on the Neva came full tilt upon Vasya himself. The latter, too, was uneasy.
'Where are you going?' cried Arkady Ivanovitch.
Vasya stopped as though he had been caught in a crime.
'Oh, it's nothing, brother, I wanted to go for a walk.'
'You could not stand it, and have been to the Artemyevs? Oh, Vasya, Vasya! Why did you go to Yulian Mastakovitch?'
Vasya did not answer, but then with a wave of his hand, he said: 'Arkady, I don't know what is the matter with me. I....'
'Come, come, Vasya. I know what it is. Calm yourself. You've been excited, and overwrought ever since yesterday. Only think, it's not much to bear. Everybody's fond of you, everybody's ready to do anything for you; your work is getting on all right; you will get it done, you will certainly get it done. I know that you have been imagining something, you have had apprehensions about something....'
'No, it's all right, it's all right....'
'Do you remember, Vasya, do you remember it was the same with you once before; do you remember, when you got your promotion, in your joy and thankfulness you were so zealous that you spoilt all your work for a week? It is just the same with you now.'
'Yes, yes, Arkady; but now it is different, it is not that at all.'
'How is it different? And very likely the work is not urgent at all, while you are killing yourself....'
'It's nothing, it's nothing. I am all right, it's nothing. Well, come along!'
'Why, are you going home, and not to them?'
'Yes, brother, how could I have the face to turn up there?... I have changed my mind. It was only that I could not stay on alone without you; now you are coming back with me I'll sit down to write again. Let us go!'
They walked along and for some time were silent. Vasya was in haste.
'Why don't you ask me about them?' said Arkady Ivanovitch.
'Oh, yes! Well, Arkasha, what about them?'
'Vasya, you are not like yourself.'
'Oh, I am all right, I am all right. Tell me everything, Arkasha,' said Vasya, in an imploring voice, as though to avoid further explanations. Arkady Ivanovitch sighed. He felt utterly at a loss, looking at Vasya.
His account of their friends roused Vasya. He even grew talkative. They had dinner together. Lizanka's mother had filled Arkady Ivanovitch's pockets with little cakes, and eating them the friends grew more cheerful. After dinner Vasya promised to take a nap, so as to sit up all night. He did, in fact, lie down. In the morning, some one whom it was impossible to refuse had invited Arkady Ivanovitch to tea. The friends parted. Arkady promised to come back as soon as he could, by eight o'clock if possible. The three hours of separation seemed to him like three years. At last he got away and rushed back to Vasya. When he went into the room, he found it in darkness. Vasya was not at home. He asked Mavra. Mavra said that he had been writing all the time, and had not slept at all, then he had paced up and down the room, and after that, an hour before, he had run out, saying he would be back in half-an-hour; 'and when, says he, Arkady Ivanovitch comes in, tell him, old woman, says he,' Mavra told him in conclusion, 'that I have gone out for a walk,' and he repeated the order three or four times.
'He is at the Artemyevs,' thought Arkady Ivanovitch, and he shook his head.
A minute later he jumped up with renewed hope.
'He has simply finished,' he thought, 'that's all it is; he couldn't wait, but ran off there. But, no! he would have waited for me.... Let's have a peep what he has there.'
He lighted a candle, and ran to Vasya's writing-table: the work had made progress and it looked as though there were not much left to do. Arkady Ivanovitch was about to investigate further, when Vasya himself walked in....
'Oh, you are here?' he cried, with a start of dismay.
Arkady Ivanovitch was silent. He was afraid to question Vasya. The latter dropped his eyes and remained silent too, as he began sorting the papers. At last their eyes met. The look in Vasya's was so beseeching, imploring, and broken, that Arkady shuddered when he saw it. His heart quivered and was full.
'Vasya, my dear boy, what is it? What's wrong?' he cried, rushing to him and squeezing him in his arms. 'Explain to me, I don't understand you, and your depression. What is the matter with you, my poor, tormented boy? What is it? Tell me all about it, without hiding anything. It can't be only this——'
Vasya held him tight and could say nothing. He could scarcely breathe.
'Don't, Vasya, don't! Well, if you don't finish it, what then? I don't understand you; tell me your trouble. You see it is for your sake I.... Oh dear! oh dear!' he said, walking up and down the room and clutching at everything he came across, as though seeking at once some remedy for Vasya. 'I will go to Yulian Mastakovitch instead of you to-morrow. I will ask him—entreat him—to let you have another day. I will explain it all to him, anything, if it worries you so....'
'God forbid!' cried Vasya, and turned as white as the wall. He could scarcely stand on his feet.
'Vasya! Vasya!'
Vasya pulled himself together. His lips were quivering; he tried to say something, but could only convulsively squeeze Arkady's hand in silence. His hand was cold. Arkady stood facing him, full of anxious and miserable suspense. Vasya raised his eyes again.
'Vasya, God bless you, Vasya! You wring my heart, my dear boy, my friend.'
Tears gushed from Vasya's eyes; he flung himself on Arkady's bosom.
'I have deceived you, Arkady,' he said. 'I have deceived you. Forgive me, forgive me! I have been faithless to your friendship....'
'What is it, Vasya? What is the matter?' asked Arkady, in real alarm.
'Look!'
And with a gesture of despair Vasya tossed out of the drawer on to the table six thick manuscripts, similar to the one he had copied.
'What's this?'
'What I have to get through by the day after to-morrow. I haven't done a quarter! Don't ask me, don't ask me how it has happened,' Vasya went on, speaking at once of what was distressing him so terribly. 'Arkady, dear friend, I don't know myself what came over me. I feel as though I were coming out of a dream. I have wasted three weeks doing nothing. I kept ... I ... kept going to see her.... My heart was aching, I was tormented by ... the uncertainty ... I could not write. I did not even think about it. Only now, when happiness is at hand for me, I have come to my senses.'
'Vasya,' began Arkady Ivanovitch resolutely, 'Vasya, I will save you. I understand it all. It's a serious matter; I will save you. Listen! listen to me: I will go to Yulian Mastakovitch to-morrow.... Don't shake your head; no, listen! I will tell him exactly how it has all been; let me do that ... I will explain to him.... I will go into everything. I will tell him how crushed you are, how you are worrying yourself.'
'Do you know that you are killing me now?' Vasya brought out, turning cold with horror.
Arkady Ivanovitch turned pale, but at once controlling himself, laughed.
'Is that all? Is that all?' he said. 'Upon my word, Vasya, upon my word! Aren't you ashamed? Come, listen! I see that I am grieving you. You see I understand you; I know what is passing in your heart. Why, we have been living together for five years, thank God! You are such a kind, soft-hearted fellow, but weak, unpardonably weak. Why, even Lizaveta Mikalovna has noticed it. And you are a dreamer, and that's a bad thing, too; you may go from bad to worse, brother. I tell you, I know what you want! You would like Yulian Mastakovitch, for instance, to be beside himself and, maybe, to give a ball, too, from joy, because you are going to get married.... Stop, stop! you are frowning. You see that at one word from me you are offended on Yulian Mastakovitch's account. I'll let him alone.
