'_C'est tres naturel, vous savez, dans les jeunes filles_,' he added in French, somewhat to Litvinov's surprise; the latter observed at the same instant that the prince was not in his dressing-gown as usual, but was wearing a coat. 'And besides,' continued Osinin, 'she may well be a little upset after the events of yesterday!'

'Events?' muttered Litvinov.

'Yes, yes, events, events, _de vrais evenements_. You cannot imagine, Grigory Mihalovitch, _quel succes elle a eu_! The whole court noticed her! Prince Alexandr Fedorovitch said that her place was not here, and that she reminded him of Countess Devonshire. You know ... that ...

celebrated.... And old Blazenkrampf declared in the hearing of all, that Irina was _la reine du bal_, and desired to be introduced to her; he was introduced to me too, that's to say, he told me that he remembered me a hussar, and asked me where I was holding office now. Most entertaining man that Count, and such an _adorateur du beau s.e.xe_! But that's not all; my princess ... they gave her no peace either: Natalya Nikitishna herself conversed with her ... what more could we have? Irina danced _avec tous les meilleurs cavaliers_; they kept bringing them up to me.... I positively lost count of them. Would you believe it, they were all flocking about us in crowds; in the mazurka they did nothing but seek her out. One foreign diplomatist, hearing she was a Moscow girl, said to the Tsar: '_Sire_,' he said, '_decidement c'est Moscou qui est le centre de votre empire!_' and another diplomatist added: '_C'est une vraie revolution, Sire--revelation_ or _revolution_ ... something of that sort. Yes, yes, it was. I tell you it was something extraordinary.'

'Well, and Irina Pavlovna herself?' inquired Litvinov, whose hands and feet had grown cold hearing the prince's speech, 'did she enjoy herself, did she seem pleased?'

'Of course she enjoyed herself; how could she fail to be pleased? But, as you know, she's not to be seen through at a glance! Every one was saying to me yesterday: it is really surprising! _jamais on ne dirait que mademoiselle votre fille est a son premier bal_. Count Reisenbach among the rest ... you know him most likely.'

'No, I don't know him at all, and have never heard of him.'

'My wife's cousin.'

'I don't know him.'

'A rich man, a chamberlain, living in Petersburg, in the swim of things; in Livonia every one is in his hands. Hitherto he has neglected us ...

but there, I don't bear him ill-will for that. _J'ai l'humeur facile, comme vous savez._ Well, that's the kind of man he is. He sat near Irina, conversed with her for a quarter of an hour, not more, and said afterwards to my princess: "_Ma cousine_," he says, "_votre fille est une perle; c'est une perfection_, every one is congratulating me on such a niece...." And afterwards I look round--and he had gone up to a ... a very great personage, and was talking, and kept looking at Irina ... and the personage was looking at her too.'...

'And so Irina Pavlovna will not appear all day?' Litvinov asked again.

'Quite so; her head aches very badly. She told me to greet you from her, and thank you for your flowers, _qu'on a trouve charmant_. She needs rest.... The princess has gone out on a round of visits ... and I myself ... you see....'

The prince cleared his throat, and began to fidget as though he were at a loss what to add further. Litvinov took his hat, and saying he did not want to disturb him, and would call again later to inquire after her health, he went away.

A few steps from the Osinins' house he saw an elegant carriage for two persons standing before the police sentry-box. A groom in livery, equally elegant, was bending negligently from the box, and inquiring of the Finnish police-sergeant whereabouts Prince Pavel Va.s.silyevitch Osinin lived. Litvinov glanced at the carriage; in it sat a middle-aged man of bloated complexion, with a wrinkled and haughty face, a Greek nose, and an evil mouth, m.u.f.fled in a sable wrap, by all outward signs a very great man indeed.

IX

Litvinov did not keep his promise of returning later; he reflected that it would be better to defer his visit till the following day. When he went into the too familiar drawing-room at about twelve o'clock, he found there the two youngest princesses, Viktorinka and Kleopatrinka. He greeted them, and then inquired, 'Was Irina Pavlovna better, and could he see her?'

'Irinotchka has gone away with mammy,' replied Viktorinka; she lisped a little, but was more forward than her sister.

'How ... gone away?' repeated Litvinov, and there was a sort of still shudder in the very bottom of his heart. 'Does she not, does she not look after you about this time, and give you your lessons?'

'Irinotchka will not give us any lessons any more now,' answered Viktorinka. 'Not any more now,' Kleopatrinka repeated after her.

'Is your papa at home?' asked Litvinov.

'Papa is not at home,' continued Viktorinka, 'and Irinotchka is not well; all night long she was crying and crying....'

'Crying?'

'Yes, crying ... Yegorovna told me, and her eyes are so red, they are quite in-inflamed....'

Litvinov walked twice up and down the room shuddering as though with cold, and went back to his lodging. He experienced a sensation like that which gains possession of a man when he looks down from a high tower; everything failed within him, and his head was swimming slowly with a sense of nausea. Dull stupefaction, and thoughts scurrying like mice, vague terror, and the numbness of expectation, and curiosity--strange, almost malignant--and the weight of crushed tears in his heavy laden breast, on his lips the forced empty smile, and a meaningless prayer--addressed to no one.... Oh, how bitter it all was, and how hideously degrading! 'Irina does not want to see me,' was the thought that was incessantly revolving in his brain; 'so much is clear; but why is it? What can have happened at that ill-fated ball? And how is such a change possible all at once? So suddenly....' People always see death coming suddenly, but they can never get accustomed to its suddenness, they feel it senseless. 'She sends no message for me, does not want to explain herself to me....'

'Grigory Mihalitch,' called a strained voice positively in his ear.

Litvinov started, and saw before him his servant with a note in his hand. He recognised Irina's writing.... Before he had broken the seal, he had a foreknowledge of woe, and bent his head on his breast and hunched his shoulders, as though shrinking from the blow.

He plucked up courage at last, and tore open the envelope all at once.

On a small sheet of notepaper were the following lines:

'Forgive me, Grigory Mihalitch. All is over between us; I am going away to Petersburg. I am dreadfully unhappy, but the thing is done. It seems my fate ... but no, I do not want to justify myself. My presentiments have been realised. Forgive me, forget me; I am not worthy of you.--Irina. Be magnanimous: do not try to see me.'

Litvinov read these five lines, and slowly dropped on to the sofa, as though some one had dealt him a blow on the breast. He dropped the note, picked it up, read it again, whispered 'to Petersburg,' and dropped it again; that was all. There even came upon him a sense of peace; he even, with his hands thrown behind him, smoothed the pillow under his head.

'Men wounded to death don't fling themselves about,' he thought, 'as it has come, so it has gone. All this is natural enough: I always expected it....' (He was lying to himself; he had never expected anything like it.) 'Crying?... Was she crying?... What was she crying for? Why, she did not love me! But all that is easily understood and in accordance with her character. She--she is not worthy of me.... That's it!' (He laughed bitterly.) 'She did not know herself what power was latent in her,--well, convinced of it in her effect at the ball, was it likely she would stay with an insignificant student?--all that's easily understood.'

But then he remembered her tender words, her smile, and those eyes, those never to be forgotten eyes, which he would never see again, which used to shine and melt at simply meeting his eyes; he recalled one swift, timorous, burning kiss--and suddenly he fell to sobbing, sobbing convulsively, furiously, vindictively; turned over on his face, and choking and stifling with frenzied satisfaction as though thirsting to tear himself to pieces with all around him, he turned his hot face in the sofa pillow, and bit it in his teeth.

Alas! the gentleman whom Litvinov had seen the day before in the carriage was no other than the cousin of the Princess Osinin, the rich chamberlain, Count Reisenbach. Noticing the sensation produced by Irina on certain personages of the highest rank, and instantaneously reflecting what advantages might _mit etwas Accuratesse_ be derived from the fact, the count made his plan at once like a man of energy and a skilful courtier. He decided to act swiftly, in Napoleonic style. 'I will take that original girl into my house,' was what he meditated, 'in Petersburg; I will make her my heiress, devil take me, of my whole property even; as I have no children. She is my niece, and my countess is dull all alone.... It's always more agreeable to have a pretty face in one's drawing-room.... Yes, yes; ... that's it; _es ist eine Idee, es ist eine Idee!_' He would have to dazzle, bewilder, and impress the parents. 'They've not enough to eat'--the count pursued his reflection when he was in the carriage and on his way to Dogs' Place--'so, I warrant, they won't be obstinate. They're not such over-sentimental folks either. I might give them a sum of money down into the bargain.

And she? She will consent. Honey is sweet--she had a taste of it last night. It's a whim on my part, granted; let them profit by it, ... the fools. I shall say to them one thing and another ... and you must decide--otherwise I shall adopt another--an orphan--which would be still more suitable. Yes or no--twenty-four hours I fix for the term--_und damit Punctum_.'

And with these very words on his lips, the count presented himself before the prince, whom he had forewarned of his visit the evening before at the ball. On the result of this visit it seems hardly worth while to enlarge further. The count was not mistaken in his prognostications: the prince and princess were in fact not obstinate, and accepted the sum of money; and Irina did in fact consent before the allotted term had expired. It was not easy for her to break off her relations with Litvinov; she loved him; and after sending him her note, she almost kept her bed, weeping continually, and grew thin and wan. But for all that, a month later the princess carried her off to Petersburg, and established her at the count's; committing her to the care of the countess, a very kind-hearted woman, but with the brain of a hen, and something of a hen's exterior.

Litvinov threw up the university, and went home to his father in the country. Little by little his wound healed. At first he had no news of Irina, and indeed he avoided all conversation that touched on Petersburg and Petersburg society. Later on, by degrees, rumours--not evil exactly, but curious--began to circulate about her; gossip began to be busy about her. The name of the young Princess Osinin, encircled in splendour, impressed with quite a special stamp, began to be more and more frequently mentioned even in provincial circles. It was p.r.o.nounced with curiosity, respect, and envy, as men at one time used to mention the name of the Countess Vorotinsky. At last the news came of her marriage. But Litvinov hardly paid attention to these last tidings; he was already betrothed to Tatyana.

Now, the reader can no doubt easily understand exactly what it was Litvinov recalled when he cried, 'Can it be she?' and therefore we will return to Baden and take up again the broken thread of our story.

X

Litvinov fell asleep very late, and did not sleep long; the sun had only just risen when he got out of bed. The summits of dark mountains visible from his windows stood out in misty purple against the clear sky. 'How cool it must be there under the trees!' he thought; and he dressed in haste, and looked with indifference at the bouquet which had opened more luxuriantly after the night; he took a stick and set off towards the 'Old Castle' on the famous 'Cliffs.' Invigorating and soothing was the caressing contact of the fresh morning about him. He drew long breaths, and stepped out boldly; the vigorous health of youth was throbbing in every vein; the very earth seemed springy under his light feet. With every step he grew more light-hearted, more happy; he walked in the dewy shade in the thick sand of the little paths, beside the fir-trees that were fringed with the vivid green of the spring shoots at the end of every twig. 'How jolly it is!' he kept repeating to himself. Suddenly he heard the sound of familiar voices; he looked ahead and saw Voroshilov and Bambaev coming to meet him. The sight of them jarred upon him; he rushed away like a school-boy avoiding his teacher, and hid himself behind a bush.... 'My Creator!' he prayed, 'mercifully remove my countrymen!' He felt that he would not have grudged any money at the moment if only they did not see him.... And they actually did not see him: the Creator was merciful to him. Voroshilov, in his self-confident military voice, was holding forth to Bambaev on the various phases of Gothic architecture, and Bambaev only grunted approvingly; it was obvious that Voroshilov had been dinning his phrases into him a long while, and the good-natured enthusiast was beginning to be bored.

Compressing his lips and craning his neck, Litvinov listened a long while to their retreating footsteps; for a long time the accents of instructive discourse--now guttural, now nasal--reached his ears; at last, all was still again. Litvinov breathed freely, came out of his ambush, and walked on.

For three hours he wandered about the mountains. Sometimes he left the path, and jumped from rock to rock, slipping now and then on the smooth moss; then he would sit down on a fragment of the cliff under an oak or a beech, and muse on pleasant fancies to the never-ceasing gurgle of the little rills over-grown with ferns, the soothing rustle of the leaves, and the shrill notes of a solitary blackbird. A light and equally pleasant drowsiness began to steal over him, it seemed to approach him caressingly, and he dropped asleep ... but suddenly he smiled and looked round; the gold and green of the forest, and the moving foliage beat down softly on his eyes--and again he smiled and again closed them. He began to want breakfast, and he made his way towards the old castle where for a few kreutzers he could get a gla.s.s of good milk and coffee.

But he had hardly had time to establish himself at one of the little white-painted tables set on the platform before the castle, when the heavy tramping of horses was heard, and three open carriages drove up, out of which stepped a rather numerous company of ladies and gentlemen.... Litvinov at once recognised them as Russians, though they were all talking French ... just because they were all talking French.

The ladies' dresses were marked by a studied elegance; the gentlemen wore close-fitting coats with waists--which is not altogether usual nowadays--grey trousers of fancy material, and very glossy town hats. A narrow black cravat closely fettered the neck of each of these gentlemen, and something military was apparent in their whole deportment. They were, in fact, military men; Litvinov had chanced upon a picnic party of young generals--persons of the highest society, of weight and importance. Their importance was clearly expressed in everything: in their discreet nonchalance, in their amiably condescending smiles, in the intense indifference of their expression, the effeminate little movements of their shoulders, the swing of the figure, and the crook of the knees; it was expressed, too, in the sound of their voices, which seemed to be affably and fastidiously thanking a subservient mult.i.tude. All these officers were superlatively washed and shaved, and thoroughly saturated with that genuine aroma of n.o.bility and the Guards, compounded of the best cigar smoke, and the most marvellous patchouli. They all had the hands too of n.o.blemen--white and large, with nails firm as ivory; their moustaches seemed positively polished, their teeth shone, and their skin--rosy on their cheeks, bluish on their chins--was most delicate and fine. Some of the young generals were frivolous, others were serious; but the stamp of the best breeding was on all of them. Each of them seemed to be deeply conscious of his own dignity, and the importance of his own future part in the government, and conducted himself with severity and ease, with a faint shade of that carelessness, that 'deuce-take-it' air, which comes out so naturally during foreign travel. The party seated themselves with much noise and ostentation, and called the obsequious waiters. Litvinov made haste to drink off his gla.s.s of milk, paid for it, and putting his hat on, was just making off past the party of generals....

'Grigory Mihalitch,' he heard a woman's voice. 'Don't you recognise me?'

He stopped involuntarily. That voice ... that voice had too often set his heart beating in the past.... He turned round and saw Irina.

She was sitting at a table, her arms folded on the back of a chair drawn up near; with her head bent on one side and a smile on her face, she was looking at him cordially, almost with delight.

Litvinov knew her at once, though she had changed since he saw her that last time ten years ago, though she had been transformed from a girl into a woman. Her slim figure had developed and reached its perfection, the lines of her once narrow shoulders now recalled the G.o.ddesses that stand out on the ceilings of ancient Italian palaces. But her eyes remained the same, and it seemed to Litvinov that they were looking at him just as in those days in the little house in Moscow.

'Irina Pavlovna,' he uttered irresolutely.

'You know me? How glad I am! how glad----'