"And here is the lake," murmurs the manager: "how blue and smooth it is!

And here is a little golden boat!... Would you like to have a sail in it?... It moves of itself."

"I will not get into it!" thought Aratoff; "a disaster is coming!" and nevertheless he did seat himself in the boat. On the bottom, writhing, lay a little creature resembling an ape; in its paws it was holding a phial filled with a dark liquid.

"Pray do not feel alarmed," shouted the manager from the sh.o.r.e.... "That is nothing! That is death! A prosperous journey!"

The boat darted swiftly onward ... but suddenly a hurricane arose, not like the one of the day before, soft and noiseless--no; it is a black, terrible, howling hurricane!--Everything is in confusion round about;--and amid the swirling gloom Aratoff beholds Clara in theatrical costume: she is raising the phial to her lips, a distant "Bravo! bravo!"

is audible, and a coa.r.s.e voice shouts in Aratoff's ear:

"Ah! And didst thou think that all this would end in a comedy?--No! it is a tragedy! a tragedy!"

Aratoff awoke all in a tremble. It was not dark in the room.... A faint and melancholy light streamed from somewhere or other, impa.s.sively illuminating all objects. Aratoff did not try to account to himself for the light.... He felt but one thing: Clara was there in that room ... he felt her presence ... he was again and forever in her power!

A shriek burst from his lips: "Clara, art thou here?"

"Yes!" rang out clearly in the middle of the room illuminated with the motionless light.

Aratoff doubly repeated his question....

"Yes!" was audible once more.

"Then I want to see thee!" he cried, springing out of bed.

For several moments he stood in one spot, treading the cold floor with his bare feet. His eyes roved: "But where? Where?" whispered his lips....

Nothing was to be seen or heard.

He looked about him, and noticed that the faint light which filled the room proceeded from a night-light, screened by a sheet of paper, and placed in one corner, probably by Platosha while he was asleep. He even detected the odour of incense also, in all probability, the work of her hands.

He hastily dressed himself. Remaining in bed, sleeping, was not to be thought of.--Then he took up his stand in the centre of the room and folded his arms. The consciousness of Clara's presence was stronger than ever within him.

And now he began to speak, in a voice which was not loud, but with the solemn deliberation wherewith exorcisms are uttered:

"Clara,"--thus did he begin,--"if thou art really here, if thou seest me, if thou hearest me, reveal thyself!... If that power which I feel upon me is really thy power,--reveal thyself! If thou understandest how bitterly I repent of not having understood thee, of having repulsed thee,--reveal thyself!--If that which I have heard is really thy voice; if the feeling which has taken possession of me is love; if thou art now convinced that I love thee,--I who up to this time have not loved, and have not known a single woman;--if thou knowest that after thy death I fell pa.s.sionately, irresistibly in love with thee, if thou dost not wish me to go mad--reveal thyself!"

No sooner had Aratoff uttered this last word than he suddenly felt some one swiftly approach him from behind, as on that occasion upon the boulevard--and lay a hand upon his shoulder. He wheeled round--and saw no one. But the consciousness of _her_ presence became so distinct, so indubitable, that he cast another hasty glance behind him....

What was that?! In his arm-chair, a couple of paces from him, sat a woman all in black. Her head was bent to one side, as in the stereoscope.... It was she! It was Clara! But what a stern, what a mournful face!

Aratoff sank down gently upon his knees.--Yes, he was right, then; neither fear, nor joy was in him, nor even surprise.... His heart even began to beat more quietly;--The only thing in him was the feeling: "Ah!

At last! At last!"

"Clara," he began in a faint but even tone, "why dost thou not look at me? I know it is thou ... but I might, seest thou, think that my imagination had created an image like _that one_...." (He pointed in the direction of the stereoscope).... "Prove to me that it is thou.... Turn toward me, look at me, Clara!"

Clara's hand rose slowly ... and fell again.

"Clara! Clara! Turn toward me!"

And Clara's head turned slowly, her drooping lids opened, and the dark pupils of her eyes were fixed on Aratoff.

He started back, and uttered a tremulous, long-drawn: "Ah!"

Clara gazed intently at him ... but her eyes, her features preserved their original thoughtfully-stern, almost displeased expression. With precisely that expression she had presented herself on the platform upon the day of the literary morning, before she had caught sight of Aratoff.

And now, as on that occasion also, she suddenly flushed scarlet, her face grew animated, her glance flashed, and a joyful, triumphant smile parted her lips....

"I am forgiven!"--cried Aratoff.--"Thou hast conquered.... So take me!

For I am thine, and thou art mine!"

He darted toward her, he tried to kiss those smiling, those triumphant lips,--and he did kiss them, he felt their burning touch, he felt even the moist chill of her teeth, and a rapturous cry rang through the half-dark room.

Platonida Ivanovna ran in and found him in a swoon. He was on his knees; his head was lying on the arm-chair; his arms, outstretched before him, hung powerless; his pale face breathed forth the intoxication of boundless happiness.

Platonida Ivanovna threw herself beside him, embraced him, stammered: "Yasha! Yashenka! Yashenyonotchek!!"[67] tried to lift him up with her bony arms ... he did not stir. Then Platonida Ivanovna set to screaming in an unrecognisable voice. The maid-servant ran in. Together they managed somehow to lift him up, seated him in a chair, and began to dash water on him--and water in which a holy image had been washed at that....

He came to himself; but merely smiled in reply to his aunt's queries, and with such a blissful aspect that she became more perturbed than ever, and kept crossing first him and then herself.... At last Aratoff pushed away her hand, and still with the same beatific expression on his countenance, he said:--

"What is the matter with you, Platosha?"

"What ails thee, Yashenka?"

"Me?--I am happy ... happy, Platosha ... that is what ails me. But now I want to go to bed and sleep."

He tried to rise, but felt such a weakness in his legs and in all his body that he was not in a condition to undress and get into bed himself without the aid of his aunt and of the maid-servant. But he fell asleep very quickly, preserving on his face that same blissfully-rapturous expression. Only his face was extremely pale.

XVIII

When Platonida Ivanovna entered his room on the following morning he was in the same condition ... but his weakness had not pa.s.sed off, and he even preferred to remain in bed. Platonida Ivanovna did not like the pallor of his face in particular.

"What does it mean, O Lord!" she thought. "There isn't a drop of blood in his face, he refuses his beef-tea; he lies there and laughs, and keeps a.s.serting that he is quite well!"

He refused breakfast also.--"Why dost thou do that, Yasha?" she asked him; "dost thou intend to lie like this all day?"

"And what if I do?" replied Aratoff, affectionately.

This very affection also did not please Platonida Ivanovna. Aratoff wore the aspect of a man who has learned a great secret, which is very agreeable to him, and is jealously clinging to it and reserving it for himself. He was waiting for night, not exactly with impatience but with curiosity.

"What comes next?" he asked himself;--"what will happen?" He had ceased to be surprised, to be perplexed; he cherished no doubt as to his having entered into communication with Clara; that they loved each other ... he did not doubt, either. Only ... what can come of such a love?--He recalled that kiss ... and a wondrous chill coursed swiftly and sweetly through all his limbs.--"Romeo and Juliet did not exchange such a kiss as that!" he thought. "But the next time I shall hold out better.... I shall possess her.... She will come with the garland of tiny roses in her black curls....

"But after that what? For we cannot live together, can we? Consequently I must die in order to be with her? Was not that what she came for,--and is it not in _that_ way she wishes to take me?

"Well, and what of that? If I must die, I must. Death does not terrify me in the least now. For it cannot annihilate me, can it? On the contrary, only _thus_ and _there_ shall I be happy ... as I have never been happy in my lifetime, as she has never been in hers.... For we are both unsullied!--Oh, that kiss!"

Platonida Ivanovna kept entering Aratoff's room; she did not worry him with questions, she merely took a look at him, whispered, sighed, and went out again.--But now he refused his dinner also.... Things were getting quite too bad. The old woman went off to her friend, the medical man of the police-district, in whom she had faith simply because he did not drink and was married to a German woman. Aratoff was astonished when she brought the man to him; but Platonida Ivanovna began so insistently to entreat her Yashenka to permit Paramon Paramonitch (that was the medical man's name) to examine him--come, now, just for her sake!--that Aratoff consented. Paramon Paramonitch felt his pulse, looked at his tongue, interrogated him after a fashion, and finally announced that it was indispensably necessary to "auscultate" him. Aratoff was in such a submissive frame of mind that he consented to this also. The doctor delicately laid bare his breast, delicately tapped it, listened, smiled, prescribed some drops and a potion, but chief of all, advised him to be quiet, and refrain from violent emotions.