The Duel - Anton Chekhov (books to read for teens .TXT) 📗

for some time, and went back into the drawing room.

“Here I am,” he said, smiling; he felt agonisingly ashamed, and he felt others were ashamed in his presence. “Fancy such a thing happening,” he said, sitting down. “I was sitting here, and all of a sudden, do you know, I felt a terrible piercing pain in my side⁠ ⁠… unendurable, my nerves could not stand it, and⁠ ⁠… and it led to this silly performance. This is the age of nerves; there is no help for it.”

At supper he drank some wine, and, from time to time, with an abrupt sigh rubbed his side as though to suggest that he still felt the pain. And no one, except Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, believed him, and he saw that.

After nine o’clock they went for a walk on the boulevard. Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, afraid that Kirilin would speak to her, did her best to keep all the time beside Marya Konstantinovna and the children. She felt weak with fear and misery, and felt she was going to be feverish; she was exhausted and her legs would hardly move, but she did not go home, because she felt sure that she would be followed by Kirilin or Atchmianov or both at once. Kirilin walked behind her with Nikodim Alexandritch, and kept humming in an undertone:

“I don’t al-low people to play with me! I don’t al-low it.”

From the boulevard they went back to the pavilion and walked along the beach, and looked for a long time at the phosphorescence on the water. Von Koren began telling them why it looked phosphorescent.

XIV

“It’s time I went to my Vint.⁠ ⁠… They will be waiting for me,” said Laevsky. “Goodbye, my friends.”

“I’ll come with you; wait a minute,” said Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, and she took his arm.

They said goodbye to the company and went away. Kirilin took leave too, and saying that he was going the same way, went along beside them.

“What will be, will be,” thought Nadyezhda Fyodorovna. “So be it.⁠ ⁠…”

And it seemed to her that all the evil memories in her head had taken shape and were walking beside her in the darkness, breathing heavily, while she, like a fly that had fallen into the inkpot, was crawling painfully along the pavement and smirching Laevsky’s side and arm with blackness.

If Kirilin should do anything horrid, she thought, not he but she would be to blame for it. There was a time when no man would have talked to her as Kirilin had done, and she had torn up her security like a thread and destroyed it irrevocably⁠—who was to blame for it? Intoxicated by her passions she had smiled at a complete stranger, probably just because he was tall and a fine figure. After two meetings she was weary of him, had thrown him over, and did not that, she thought now, give him the right to treat her as he chose?

“Here I’ll say goodbye to you, darling,” said Laevsky. “Ilya Mihalitch will see you home.”

He nodded to Kirilin, and, quickly crossing the boulevard, walked along the street to Sheshkovsky’s, where there were lights in the windows, and then they heard the gate bang as he went in.

“Allow me to have an explanation with you,” said Kirilin. “I’m not a boy, not some Atchkasov or Latchkasov, Zatchkasov.⁠ ⁠… I demand serious attention.”

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna’s heart began beating violently. She made no reply.

“The abrupt change in your behaviour to me I put down at first to coquetry,” Kirilin went on; “now I see that you don’t know how to behave with gentlemanly people. You simply wanted to play with me, as you are playing with that wretched Armenian boy; but I’m a gentleman and I insist on being treated like a gentleman. And so I am at your service.⁠ ⁠…”

“I’m miserable,” said Nadyezhda Fyodorovna beginning to cry, and to hide her tears she turned away.

“I’m miserable too,” said Kirilin, “but what of that?”

Kirilin was silent for a space, then he said distinctly and emphatically:

“I repeat, madam, that if you do not give me an interview this evening, I’ll make a scandal this very evening.”

“Let me off this evening,” said Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, and she did not recognise her own voice, it was so weak and pitiful.

“I must give you a lesson.⁠ ⁠… Excuse me for the roughness of my tone, but it’s necessary to give you a lesson. Yes, I regret to say I must give you a lesson. I insist on two interviews⁠—today and tomorrow. After tomorrow you are perfectly free and can go wherever you like with anyone you choose. Today and tomorrow.”

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna went up to her gate and stopped.

“Let me go,” she murmured, trembling all over and seeing nothing before her in the darkness but his white tunic. “You’re right: I’m a horrible woman.⁠ ⁠… I’m to blame, but let me go⁠ ⁠… I beg you.” She touched his cold hand and shuddered. “I beseech you.⁠ ⁠…”

“Alas!” sighed Kirilin, “alas! it’s not part of my plan to let you go; I only mean to give you a lesson and make you realise. And what’s more, madam, I’ve too little faith in women.”

“I’m miserable.⁠ ⁠…”

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna listened to the even splash of the sea, looked at the sky studded with stars, and longed to make haste and end it all, and get away from the cursed sensation of life, with its sea, stars, men, fever.

“Only not in my home,” she said coldly. “Take me somewhere else.”

“Come to Muridov’s. That’s better.”

“Where’s that?”

“Near the old wall.”

She walked quickly along the street and then turned into the side-street that led towards the mountains. It was dark. There were pale streaks of light here and there on the pavement, from the lighted windows, and it seemed to her that, like a fly, she kept falling into the ink and crawling out into the light again. At one point he stumbled, almost fell down and burst out laughing.

“He’s drunk,” thought Nadyezhda Fyodorovna. “Never mind.⁠ ⁠… Never mind.⁠ ⁠… So be it.”

Atchmianov, too, soon took leave of the party and followed