Mashurina shook her heavy head.

"There is no need to ask if he loves you. However, I had better be going, otherwise I shall be late. Tell him that I was here... give him my kind regards. Tell him Mashurina was here. You won't forget my name, will you? Mashurina. And the letter... but say, where have I put it?"

Mashurina stood up, turned round as though she were rummaging in her pockets for the letter, and quickly raising a small piece of folded paper to her lips, swallowed it. "Oh, dear me! What have I done with it? Have I lost it? I must have dropped it. Dear me! Supposing some one should find it! I can't find it anywhere. It's turned out exactly as Sergai Mihailovitch wanted after all!"

"Look again," Mariana whispered. Mashurina waved her hand.

"It's no good. I've lost it."

Mariana came up to her.

"Well, then, kiss me."

Mashurina suddenly put her arms about Mariana and pressed her to her bosom with more than a woman's strength.

"I would not have done this for anybody," she said, a lump rising in her throat, "against my conscience... the first time! Tell him to be more careful... And you too. Be cautious. It will soon be very dangerous for everybody here, very dangerous. You had better both go away, while there's still time... Goodbye!" she added loudly with some severity.

"Just one more thing... tell him... no, it's not necessary. It's nothing."

Mashurina went out, banging the door behind her, while Mariana stood perplexed in the middle of the room.

"What does it all mean?" she exclaimed at last. "This woman loves him more than I do! What did she want to convey by her hints? And why did Solomin disappear so suddenly, and why didn't he come back again?"

She began pacing up and down the room. A curious sensation of fear, annoyance, and amazement took possession of her. Why did she not go with Nejdanov? Solomin had persuaded her not to... but where is Solomin? And what is going on around here? Of course Mashurina did not give her the letter because of her love for Nejdanov. But how could she decide to disregard orders? Did she want to appear magnanimous? What right had she? And why was she, Mariana, so touched by her act? An unattractive woman interests herself in a young man... What is there extraordinary about it? And why should Mashurina a.s.sume that Mariana's attachment to Nejdanov is stronger than the feelings of duty? And did Mariana ask for such a sacrifice? And what could the letter have contained? A call for speedy action? Well, and what then?

And Markelov? He is in danger... and what are we doing? Markelov spares us both, gives us the opportunity of being happy, does not part us...

What makes him do it? Is it also magnaminity... or contempt?

And did we run away from that hateful house merely to live like turtle doves?

Thus Mariana pondered, while the feeling of agitation and annoyance grew stronger and stronger within her. Her pride was hurt. Why had everyone forsaken her? EVERYONE. This stout woman had called her a bird, a beauty... why not quite plainly, a doll? And why did Nejdanov not go alone, but with Pavel? It's just as if he needed someone to look after him! And what are really Solomin's convictions? It's quite clear that he's not a revolutionist! And could any one really think that he does not treat the whole thing seriously?

These were the thoughts that whirled round, chasing one another and becoming entangled in Mariana's feverish brain. Pressing her lips closely together and folding her arms like a man, she sat down by the window at last and remained immovable, straight up in her chair, all alertness and intensity, ready to spring up at any moment. She had no desire to go to Tatiana and work; she wanted to wait alone. And she sat waiting obstinately, almost angrily. From time to time her mood seemed strange and incomprehensible even to herself... Never mind. "Am I jealous?" flashed across her mind, but remembering poor Mashurina's figure she shrugged her shoulders and dismissed the idea.

Mariana had been waiting for a long time when suddenly she heard the sound of two persons' footsteps coming up the stairs. She fixed her eyes on the door... the steps drew nearer. The door opened and Nejdanov, supported under the arm by Pavel, appeared in the doorway. He was deadly pale, without a cap, his dishevelled hair hung in wet tufts over his forehead, he stared vacantly straight in front of him. Pavel helped him across the room (Nejdanov's legs were weak and shaky) and made him sit down on the couch.

Mariana sprang up from her seat.

"What is the meaning of this? What's the matter with him? Is he ill?"

As he settled Nejdanov, Pavel answered her with a smile, looking at her over his shoulder.

"You needn't worry. He'll soon be all right. It's only because he's not used to it."

"What's the matter?" Mariana persisted.

"He's only a little tipsy. Been drinking on an empty stomach; that's all."

Mariana bent over Nejdanov. He was half lying on the couch, his head sunk on his breast, his eyes closed. He smelled of vodka; he was quite drunk.

"Alexai!" escaped her lips.

He raised his heavy eyelids with difficulty, and tried to smile.

"Well, Mariana!" he stammered out, "you've always talked of sim-plif-ication... so here I am quite simplified. Because the people are always drunk... and so..."

He ceased, then muttered something indistinctly to himself, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. Pavel stretched him carefully on the couch.

"Don't worry, Mariana Vikentievna," he repeated. "He'll sleep an hour or two and wake up as fresh as can be."

Mariana wanted to ask how this had happened, but her questions would have detained Pavel and she wanted to be alone... she did not wish Pavel to see him in this disgusting state before her. She walked away to the window while Pavel, who instantly understood her, carefully covered Nejdanov's legs with the skirts of his coat, put a pillow under his head, and observing once again, "It's nothing," went out on tiptoe.

Mariana looked round. Nejdanov's head was buried in the pillow and on his pale face there was an expression of fixed intensity as on the face of one dangerously ill.

"I wonder how it happened?" she thought.

x.x.xII

IT happened like this.

Sitting down beside Pavel in the cart, Nejdanov fell into a state of great excitement. As soon as they rolled out of the courtyard onto the high road leading to T. he began shouting out the most absurd things to the peasants he met on the way. "Why are you asleep? Rouse yourself! The time has come! Down with the taxes! Down with the landlords!"

Some of the peasants stared at him in amazement, others pa.s.sed on without taking any notice of him, thinking that he was drunk; one even said when he got home that he had met a Frenchman on the way who was jabbering away at something he did not understand. Nejdanov had common sense enough to know that what he was doing was unutterably stupid and absurd had he not got himself up to such a pitch of excitement that he was no longer able to discriminate between sense and nonsense. Pavel tried to quiet him, saying that it was impossible to go on like that; that they were quite near a large village, the first on the borders of T., and that there they could look around.... But Nejdanov would not calm down, and at the same time his face bore a sad, almost despairing, expression. Their horse was an energetic, round little thing, with a clipped mane on its scraggy neck. It tugged at the reins, and its strong little legs flew as fast as they could, just as if it were conscious of bearing important people to the scene of action. Just before they reached the village, Nejdanov saw a group of about eight peasants standing by the side of the road at the closed doors of a granary. He instantly jumped out of the cart, rushed up to them, and began shouting at them, thumping his fists and gesticulating for about five minutes.

The words "For Freedom! March on! Put the shoulder to the wheel!" could be distinguished from among the rest of his confused words.

The peasants, who had met before the granary for the purpose of discussing how to fill it once more--if only to show that they were doing something (it was the communal granary and consequently empty)--fixed their eyes on Nejdanov and seemed to listen to him with the greatest attention, but they had evidently not understood a word he had said, for no sooner was his back turned, shouting for the last time "Freedom!" as he rushed away, when one of them, the most sagacious of the lot, shook his head saying, "What a severe one!" "He must be an officer," another remarked, to which the wise one said: "We know all about that--he doesn't talk for nothing. We'll have to pay the piper."

"Heavens! what nonsense this all is!" Nejdanov thought to himself, as he sat down next to Pavel in the cart. "But then none of us know how to get at the people--perhaps this is the right way after all! Who knows? Go on! Does your heart ache? Let it!"

They found themselves in the main street of the village in the middle of which a number of people were gathered together before a tavern.

Nejdanov, paying no heed to Pavel, who was trying to hold him back, leapt down from the cart with a cry of "Brothers!" The crowd made way for him and he again began preaching, looking neither to right nor left, as if furious and weeping at the same time. But things turned out quite differently than with his former attempt at the barn. An enormous fellow with a clean-shaven, vicious face, in a short greasy coat, high boots, and a sheepskin cap, came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"All right! my fine fellow!" he bawled out in a wheezy voice; "but wait a bit! good deeds must be rewarded. Come along in here. It'll be much better talking in there." He pulled Nejdanov into the tavern, the others streamed in after them. "Michaitch!" the fellow shouted, "twopennyworth!

My favourite drink! I want to treat a friend. Who he is, what's his family, and where he's from, only the devil knows! Drink!" he said, turning to Nejdanov and handing him a heavy, full gla.s.s, wet all over on the outside, as though perspiring, "drink, if you really have any feeling for us!" "Drink!" came a chorus of voices. Nejdanov, who seemed as if in a fever, seized the gla.s.s and with a cry of "I drink to you, children!" drank it off at a gulp. Ugh! He drank it off with the same desperate heroism with which he would have flung himself in storming a battery or on a line of bayonets. But what was happening to him?

Something seemed to have struck his spine, his legs, burned his throat, his chest, his stomach, made the tears come into his eyes. A shudder of disgust pa.s.sed all over him. He began shouting at the top of his voice to drown the throbbing in his head. The dark tavern room suddenly became hot and thick and suffocating--and people, people everywhere! Nejdanov began talking, talking incessantly, shouting furiously, in exasperation, shaking broad rough hands, kissing p.r.i.c.kly beards. ... The enormous fellow in the greasy coat kissed him too, nearly breaking his ribs.

This fellow turned out to be a perfect fiend. "I'll wring the neck," he shouted, "I'll wring the neck of anyone who dares to offend our brother!

And what's more, I'll make mincemeat of him too... I'll make him cry out! That's nothing to me. I was a butcher and know how to do such jobs!" At this he held up an enormous fist covered with freckles.

Someone again shouted, "Drink!" and Nejdanov again swallowed a gla.s.s of the filthy poison. But this second time was truly awful! Blunt hooks seemed to be tearing him to pieces inside. His head was in a whirl, green circles swam before his eyes. A hubbub arose... Oh horror! a third gla.s.s. Was it possible he emptied that too? He seemed to be surrounded by purple noses, dusty heads of hair, tanned necks covered with nets of wrinkles. Rough hands seized him. "Go on!" they bawled out in angry voices, "talk away! The day before yesterday another stranger talked like that. Go on." The earth seemed reeling under Nejdanov's feet, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as though coming from a long way off... Was it death or what?

And suddenly he felt the fresh air blowing about his face, no more pushing and shoving, no more stench of spirits, sheep-skin, tar, nor leather.... He was again sitting beside Pavel in the cart, struggling at first and shouting, "Where are you off to? Stop! I haven't had time to tell them anything--I must explain..." and then added, "and what are your own ideas on the subject, you sly-boots?"

"It would certainly be well if there were no gentry and the land belonged to us, of course," Pavel replied, "but there's been no such order from the government." He quietly turned the horse's head and, suddenly lashing it on the back with the reins, set off at full gallop, away from this din and uproar, back to the factory.

Nejdanov sat dozing, rocked by the motion of the cart, while the wind played pleasantly about his face and kept back gloomy depressing thoughts.