"No. You may go. Close the door."

The old butler looked at them knowingly; then withdrew.

Kseniya turned at once to Polunin.

"I have told you everything. How is it you have not understood? Drink up your tea."

"Tell me again," he pleaded.

"Take your tea first; pour out the rum. I repeat I have already told you all. You remember about the mice? Did you not understand that?"

Kseniya Ippolytovna sat erect in her chair; she spoke coldly, in the same distant tone in which she had addressed the butler.

Polunin shook his head: "No, I haven't understood."

"Dear me, dear me!" she mocked, "and you used to be so quick-witted, my ascetic. Still, health and happiness do not always sharpen the wits. You are healthy and happy, aren't you?"

"You are being unjust again," Polunin protested. "You know very well that I love you."

Kseniya Ippolytovna gave a short laugh: "Oh, come, come! None of that!" She drank her gla.s.s of tea feverishly, threw herself back in the chair, and was silent.

Polunin also took his, warming himself after his cold drive.

She spoke again after a while in a quiet dreamy tone: "In this stove, flames will suddenly flare up, then die away, and it will become cold. You and I have always had broken conversations. Perhaps the Arkhipovs are right--when it seems expedient, kill! When it seems expedient, breed! That is wise, prudent, honest...." Suddenly she sat erect, pouring out quick, pa.s.sionate, uneven words:

"Do you love me? Do you desire me ... as a woman?... to kiss, to caress?... You understand? No, be silent! I am purged.... I come to you as you came to me that June.... You didn't understand about the mice?... Or perhaps you did.

"Have you noticed, have you ever reflected on that which does not change in man's life, but for ever remains the same? No, no, wait!...

There have been hundreds of religions, ethics, aesthetics, sciences, philosophical systems: they have all changed and are still changing-- only one law remains unaltered, that all living things--whether men, mice, or rye--are born, breed, and die.

"I was packing up for Nice, where a lover expected me, when suddenly I felt an overwhelming desire for a babe, a dear, sweet, little babe of my own, and I remembered you .... Then I travelled here, to Russia so as to bear it in reverence.... I am able to do so now!..."

Polunin rose and stood close to Kseniya Ippolytovna: his expression was serious and alarmed.

"Don't beat me," she murmured.

"You are innocent, Kseniya," he replied.

"Oh, there you go again!" she cried impatiently. "Always sin and innocence! I am a stupid woman, full of beliefs and superst.i.tions-- nothing more--like all women. I want to conceive here, to breed and bear a child here. Do you wish to be the father?"

She stood up, looking intently into Polunin's eyes.

"What are you saying, Kseniya?" he asked in a low, grave, pained tone.

"I have told you what I want. Give me a child and then go--anywhere-- back to your Alena! I have not forgotten that June and July."

"I cannot," Polunin replied firmly; "I love Alena."

"I do not want love," she persisted; "I have no need of it. Indeed I have not, for I do not even love you!" She spoke in a low, faint voice, and pa.s.sed her hand over her face.

"I must go," the man said at last.

She looked at him sharply. "Where to?"

"How do you mean 'where to'? I must go away altogether!"

"Ah, those tragedies, duties, and sins again!" she cried, her eyes burning into his with hatred and contempt. "Isn't it all perfectly simple? Didn't you make a contract with me?"

"I have never made one without love. And I love only Alena. I must go."

"Oh, what cruel, ascetical egoism!" she cried violently. Then suddenly all her rage died down, and she sat quietly in the chair, covering her face with her hands.

Polunin stood by, his shoulders bowed, his arms hanging limply. His face betrayed grief and anxiety.

Kseniya looked up at him with a wan smile: "It is all right--there is no need to go... It was only my nonsense.... I was merely venting my anger.... Don't mind me .... I am tired and hara.s.sed. Of course I have not been purged. I know that is impossible... We are the 'heisha-girls of lantern-light'.... You remember Annensky? ... Give me your hand."

Polunin stretched out his large hand, took her yielding one in his and pressed its delicate fingers.

"You have forgiven me?" she murmured.

He looked at her helplessly, then muttered: "I cannot either forgive or not forgive. But ... I cannot!"

"Never mind; we shall forget. We shall be cheerful and happy. You remember: 'Where beauty shines amidst mire and baseness there is only torment'.... You need not mind, it is all over!"

She uttered the last few words with a cry, raised herself erect, and laughed aloud with forced gaiety.

"We shall tell fortunes, jest, drink, be merry--like our grandfathers ...

you remember! ...Had not our grandmothers their coachmen friends?"

She rang the bell and the butler came in.

"Bring in more tea. Light the fire and the lamps."

The fire burnt brightly and illuminated the leather-covered chairs.

The portrait frames on the walls shone golden through the darkness.

Polunin paced up and down the room, his hands behind his back; his footsteps were m.u.f.fled in the thick carpet.

Sleigh bells began to ring outside.

It was just ten o'clock as the guests a.s.sembled from the town and the neighbouring estates. They were received in the drawing-room.

Taper, the priest's son, commenced playing a polka, and the ladies went into the ballroom; the old butler and two footmen brought wax candles and basins of water, and the old ladies began to tell fortunes. A troupe of mummers tumbled in, a bear performed tricks, a Little Russian dulcimer-player sang songs.

The mummers brought in with them the smell of frost, furs, and napthaline. One of them emitted a c.o.c.k's crow, and they danced a Russian dance. It was all merry and bright, a tumultuous, boisterous revel, as in the old Russian aristocracy days. There was a smell of burning wax, candle-grease, and burning paper.

Kseniya Ippolytovna was the soul of gaiety; she laughed and jested cheerfully as she waltzed with a Lyceum student, a General's son. She had re-dressed her hair gorgeously, and wore a pearl necklace round her throat. The old men sat round card-tables in the lounge, talking on local topics.

At half past eleven a footman opened the door leading into the dining-room and solemnly announced that supper was served. They supped and toasted, ate and drank amid the clatter of knives, forks, dishes, and spoons. Kseniya made Arkhipov, Polunin, a General and a Magistrate sit beside her.

At midnight, just as they were expecting the clock to chime, Kseniya Ippolytovna rose to propose a toast; in her right hand was a gla.s.s; her left was flung back behind her plaited hair; she held her head high. All the guests at once rose to their feet.