A GREAT many people came to dinner.When it was over, Nejdanov took advantage of the general bustle and slipped away to his own room.He wanted to be alone with his own thoughts, to arrange the impressions he had carried away from his recent journey.
Valentina Mihailovna had looked at him intently several times during dinner, but there had been no opportunity of speaking to him.Mariana, after the unexpected freak which had so bewildered him, was evidently repenting of it, and seemed to avoid him.
Nejdanov took up a pen to write to his friend Silin, but he did not know what to say to him.There were so many conflicting thoughts and sensations crowding in upon him that he did not attempt to disentangle them, and put them off for another day.
Kollomietzev had made one of the guests at dinner.Never before had this worthy shown so much insolence and snobbish contemptuousness as on this occasion, but Nejdanov simply ignored him.
He was surrounded by a sort of mist, which seemed to hang before him like a filmy curtain, separating him from the rest of the world.And through this film, strange to say, he perceived only three faces--women's faces--and all three were gazing at him intently.They were Madame Sipiagina, Mashurina, and Mariana.
What did it mean? Why particularly these three? What had they in common, and what did they want of him?
He went to bed early, but could not fall asleep.He was haunted by sad and gloomy reflections about the inevitable end-- death.
These thoughts were familiar to him, many times had he turned them over this way and that, first shuddering at the probability of annihilation, then welcoming it, almost rejoicing in it.
Suddenly a peculiarly familiar agitation took possession of him...
He mused awhile, sat down at the table, and wrote down the following lines in his sacred copy-book, without a single correction:
When I die, dear friend, remember This desire I tell to thee:
Burn thou to the last black ember All my heart has writ for me.
Let the fairest flowers surround me, Sunlight laugh about my bed, Let the sweetest of musicians To the door of death be led.
Bid them sound no strain of sadness--
Muted string or muffled drum;
Come to me with songs of gladness--
Whirling in the wild waltz come!
I would hear--ere yet I hear not--
Trembling strings their cadence keep, Chords that quiver: so I also Tremble as I fall asleep.
Memories of life and laughter, Memories of earthly glee, As I go to the hereafter All my lullaby shall be.
When he wrote the word "friend" he thought of Silin.He read the verses over to himself in an undertone, and was surprised at what had come from his pen.This scepticism, this indifference, this almost frivolous lack of faith--how did it all agree with his principles? How did it agree with what he had said at Markelov's?
He thrust the copybook into the table drawer and went back to bed.But he did not fall asleep until dawn, when the larks had already begun to twitter and the sky was turning paler.
On the following day, soon after he had finished his lesson and was sitting in the billiard room, Madame Sipiagina entered, looked round cautiously, and coming up to him with a smile, invited him to come into her boudoir.She had on a white barege dress, very simple, but extremely pretty.The embroidered frills of her sleeves came down as far as the elbow, a broad ribbon encircled her waist, her hair fell in thick curls about her neck.
Everything about her was inviting and caressing, with a sort of restrained, yet encouraging, caressiveness, everything; the subdued lustre of her half-closed eyes, the soft indolence of her voice, her gestures, her very walk.She conducted Nejdanov into her boudoir, a cosy, charming room, filled with the scent of flowers and perfumes, the pure freshness of feminine garments, the constant presence of a woman.She made him sit down in an armchair, sat down beside him, and began questioning him about his visit, about Markelov's way of living, with much tact and sweetness.She showed a genuine interest in her brother, although she had not once mentioned him in Nejdanov's presence.One could gather from what she said that the impression Mariana had made on her brother had not escaped her notice.She seemed a little disappointed, but whether it was due to the fact that Mariana did not reciprocate his feelings, or that his choice should have fallen upon a girl so utterly unlike him, was not quite clear.
But most of all she evidently strove to soften Nejdanov, to arouse his confidence towards her, to break down his shyness; she even went so far as to reproach him a little for having a false idea of her.
Nejdanov listened to her, gazed at her arms, her shoulders, and from time to time cast a look at her rosy lips and her unruly, massive curls.His replies were brief at first; he felt a curious pressure in his throat and chest, but by degrees this sensation gave way to another, just as disturbing, but not devoid of a certain sweetness....He was surprised that such a beautiful aristocratic lady of important position should take the trouble to interest herself in him, a simple student, and not only interest herself, but flirt with him a little besides.He wondered, but could not make out her object in doing so.To tell the truth, he was little concerned about the object.Madame Sipiagina went on to speak of Kolia, and assured Nejdanov that she wished to become better acquainted with him only so that she might talk to him seriously about her son, get to know his views on the education of Russian children.It might have seemed a little curious that such a wish should have come upon her so suddenly, but the root of the matter did not lie in what Valentina Mihailovna had said.She had been seized by a wave of sensuousness, a desire to conquer and bring to her feet this rebellious young man.
