"Now we should like something sweet," suggested Raisky.

"No sweets are left," Marina a.s.sured them, "but I could get some preserves, of which Va.s.silissa has the keys."

"Better still punch," said Mark. "Have you any rum?"

"Probably," she said, in answer to an inquiring glance from Raisky. "The cook was given a bottle this morning for a pudding. I will see."

Marina returned with a bottle of rum, a lemon and sugar, and then left the room. The bowl was soon in flames, which lighted up the darkened room with their pale blue light. Mark stirred it with the spoon, while the sugar held between two spoons dripped slowly into the bowl. From time to time he tasted it.

"How long have you been in our town?" asked Raisky after a short silence.

"About two years."

"You must a.s.suredly be bored?"

"I try to amuse myself," he said, pouring out a gla.s.s for himself and emptying it. "Drink," he said, pushing a gla.s.s towards Raisky.

Raisky drank slowly, not from inclination, but out of politeness to his guest. "It must be essential for you to do something, and yet you appear to do nothing?"

"And what do you do?"

"I told you I am an artist."

"Show me proof of your art."

"At the moment I have nothing except a trifling thing, and even that is not complete."

He rose from the divan and uncovered Marfinka's portrait.

"H'm, it's like her, and good," declared Mark. He told himself that Raisky had talent. "And it would be excellent, but the head is too large in proportion and the shoulders a trifle broad."

"He has a straight eye," thought Raisky.

"I like best the lightly-observed background and accessories, from which the figure detaches itself light, gay, and transparent. You have found the secret of Marfinka's figure. The tone suits her hair and her complexion."

Raisky recognised that he had taste and comprehension, and wondered if he were really an artist in a disguise.

"Do you know Marfinka?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And Vera?"

"Vera too."

"Where have you met my cousins? You do not come to the house."

"At church."

"At church? But they say you never look inside a church."

"I don't exactly remember where I have seen them, in the village, in the field."

Raisky concluded his guest was a drunkard, as he drunk down gla.s.s after gla.s.s of punch. Mark guessed his thoughts.

"You think it extraordinary that I should drink. I do it out of sheer boredom, because I am idle and have no occupation. But don't be afraid that I shall set the house on fire or murder anybody. To-day I am drinking more than usual because I am tired and cold. But I am not a drunkard."

"It depends on ourselves whether we are idle or not."

"When you climbed over Leonti's fence, I thought you were a sensible individual, but now I see that you belong to the same kind of preaching person as Niel Andreevich...."

"Is it true that you fired on him?" asked Raisky curiously.

"What nonsense! I fired a shot among the pigeons to empty the barrel of my gun, as I was returning from hunting. He came up and shouted that I should stop, because it was sinful. If he had been content with protesting I should merely have called him a fool, and there it would have ended. But he began to stamp and to threaten, 'I will have you put in prison, you ruffian, and will have you locked up where not even the raven will bring you a bone.' I allowed him to run through the whole gamut of polite remarks, and listened calmly--and then I 'took aim at him.'"

"And he?"

"Ducked, lost his stick and goloshes, finally squatted on the ground and whimpered for forgiveness. I shot into the air. That's all."

"A pretty distraction," commented Raisky ironically.

"No distraction," said Mark seriously. "There was more in it, a badly-needed lesson for the old boy."

"And then what?"

"Nothing. He lied to the Governor, saying that I had aimed at him, but missed. If I had been a peaceful citizen of the town I should have been thrust into gaol without delay; but as I am an outlaw, the Governor inquired into the matter and advised Niel Andreevich to say nothing. So that no enquiry should be inst.i.tuted from St. Petersburg; they fear that like fire."

"When I spoke of idleness," said Raisky, "I did not mean to read a moral.

Yet when I see what your mind, your abilities and your education are...."

"What have you seen? That I can climb a hedge, shoot at a fool, eat and drink heavily?" he asked as he drained his gla.s.s.

Raisky watched him, and wondered uneasily how it would all end.

"We were speaking of the art you love so much," said Mark.

"I have been s.n.a.t.c.hed from Art as if from my mother's breast," sighed Raisky, "but I shall return and shall reach my goal."

"No, you will not," laughed Mark.

"Why not, don't you believe in firm intentions?"

"How should I do otherwise, since they say the way to h.e.l.l is paved with them. No, you will do little more than you have accomplished already--that is very little. We, and many like us, simply rot and die.

The only wonder is that you don't drink. That is how our artists, half men, usually end their careers."

Smiling he thrust a gla.s.s towards his host, but emptied it himself.

Raisky concluded that he was cold, malicious and heartless. But the last remark had disturbed him. Was he really only half a man? Had he not a firm determination to reach the goal he had set before himself? He was only making fun of him.