'Olga Ivanovna? Olga?...'

'Yes... your betrothed...'

'My betrothed... Va.s.sily Ivanovitch... she... she... Why, I never wish to see her again,' cried Pavel Afanasievitch. 'Good-bye to her for ever!

What do you take me for? I'm being duped... I'm being duped... Olga Ivanovna, how wrong of you, have you no shame?...' (Tears gushed from his eyes.) 'Thanks, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch, thanks very much... I never wish to see her again now! no! no! don't speak of her.... Ah, merciful Heavens! to think I have lived to see this! Oh, very well, very well!'

'That's enough nonsense,' Va.s.sily Ivanovitch observed coldly. 'Remember, you've given me your word: the wedding's to-morrow.'

'No, that it won't be! Enough of that, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch. I say again, what do you take me for? You do me too much honour. I'm humbly obliged.

Excuse me.'

'As you please!' retorted Va.s.sily. 'Get your sword.'

'Sword... what for?'

'What for?... I'll show you what for.'

Va.s.sily drew out his fine, flexible French sword and bent it a little against the floor.

'You want... to fight... me?'

'Precisely so.'

'But, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch, put yourself in my place! How can I, only think, after what you have just told me.... I'm a man of honour, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch, a n.o.bleman.'

'You're a n.o.bleman, you're a man of honour, so you'll be so good as to fight with me.'

'Va.s.sily Ivanovitch!'

'You are frightened, I think, Mr. Rogatchov.'

'I'm not in the least frightened, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch. You thought you would frighten me, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch. I'll scare him, you thought, he's a coward, and he'll agree to anything directly... No, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch, I am a n.o.bleman as much as you are, though I've not had city breeding, and you won't succeed in frightening me into anything, excuse me.'

'Very good,' retorted Va.s.sily; 'where is your sword then?'

'Eroshka!' shouted Pavel Afanasievitch. A servant came in.

'Get me the sword--there--you know, in the loft... make haste....'

Eroshka went out. Pavel Afanasievitch suddenly became exceedingly pale, hurriedly took off his dressing-gown, put on a reddish coat with big paste b.u.t.tons... twisted a cravat round his neck... Va.s.sily looked at him, and twiddled the fingers of his right hand.

'Well, are we to fight then, Pavel Afanasievitch?'

'Let's fight, if we must fight,' replied Rogatchov, and hurriedly b.u.t.toned up his shirt.

'Ay, Pavel Afanasievitch, you take my advice, marry her... what is it to you... And believe me, I'll...'

'No, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch,' Rogatchov interrupted him. 'You'll kill me or maim me, I know, but I'm not going to lose my honour; if I'm to die then I must die.'

Eroshka came in, and trembling, gave Rogatchov a wretched old sword in a torn leather scabbard. In those days all n.o.blemen wore swords with powder, but in the steppes they only put on powder twice a year. Eroshka moved away to the door and burst out crying. Pavel Afanasievitch pushed him out of the room.

'But, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch,' he observed with some embarra.s.sment, 'I can't fight with you on the spot: allow me to put off our duel till to-morrow.

My father is not at home, and it would be as well for me to put my affairs in order to--to be ready for anything.'

'I see you're beginning to feel frightened again, sir.'

'No, no, Va.s.sily Ivanovitch; but consider yourself...'

'Listen!' shouted Lutchinov, 'you drive me out of patience.... Either give me your word to marry her at once, or fight...or I'll thrash you with my cane like a coward,--do you understand?'

'Come into the garden,' Rogatchov answered through his teeth.

But all at once the door opened, and the old nurse, Efimovna, utterly distracted, broke into the room, fell on her knees before Rogatchov, and clasped his legs....

'My little master!' she wailed, 'my nursling... what is it you are about? Will you be the death of us poor wretches, your honour? Sure, he'll kill you, darling! Only you say the word, you say the word, and we'll make an end of him, the insolent fellow.... Pavel Afanasievitch, my baby-boy, for the love of G.o.d!'

A number of pale, excited faces showed in the door...there was even the red beard of the village elder...

'Let me go, Efimovna, let me go!' muttered Rogatchov.

'I won't, my own, I won't. What are you about, sir, what are you about?

What'll Afanasey Lukitch say? Why, he'll drive us all out of the light of day.... Why are you fellows standing still? Take the uninvited guest in hand and show him out of the house, so that not a trace be left of him.'

'Rogatchov!' Va.s.sily Ivanovitch shouted menacingly.

'You are crazy, Efimovna, you are shaming me, come, come...' said Pavel Afanasievitch. 'Go away, go away, in G.o.d's name, and you others, off with you, do you hear?...'

Va.s.sily Ivanovitch moved swiftly to the open window, took out a small silver whistle, blew lightly... Bourcier answered from close by.

Lutchinov turned at once to Pavel Afanasievitch.

'What's to be the end of this farce?'

'Va.s.sily Ivanovitch, I will come to you to-morrow. What can I do with this crazy old woman?...'

'Oh, I see it's no good wasting words on you,' said Va.s.sily, and he swiftly raised his cane...

Pavel Afanasievitch broke loose, pushed Efimovna away, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the sword, and rushed through another door into the garden.

Va.s.sily dashed after him. They ran into a wooden summerhouse, painted cunningly after the Chinese fashion, shut themselves in, and drew their swords. Rogatchov had once taken lessons in fencing, but now he was scarcely capable of drawing a sword properly. The blades crossed.

Va.s.sily was obviously playing with Rogatchov's sword. Pavel Afanasievitch was breathless and pale, and gazed in consternation into Lutchinov's face.

Meanwhile, screams were heard in the garden; a crowd of people were running to the summerhouse. Suddenly Rogatchov heard the heart-rending wail of old age...he recognised the voice of his father. Afanasey Lukitch, bare-headed, with dishevelled hair, was running in front of them all, frantically waving his hands....

With a violent and unexpected turn of the blade Va.s.sily sent the sword flying out of Pavel Afanasievitch's hand.

'Marry her, my boy,' he said to him: 'give over this foolery!'

'I won't marry her,' whispered Rogatchov, and he shut his eyes, and shook all over.