The Duel, Anton Chekhov [most interesting books to read TXT] 📗

Laevsky moved hurriedly about the furniture and windows, looking for his cap.

“Thank you,” he muttered, sighing. “Thank you.⁠ ⁠… Kind and friendly words are better than charity. You have given me new life.”

He found his cap, stopped, and looked guiltily at Samoylenko.

“Alexandr Daviditch,” he said in an imploring voice.

“What is it?”

“Let me stay the night with you, my dear fellow!”

“Certainly.⁠ ⁠… Why not?”

Laevsky lay down on the sofa, and went on talking to the doctor for a long time.

Three days after the picnic, Marya Konstantinovna unexpectedly called on Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, and without greeting her or taking off her hat, seized her by both hands, pressed them to her breast and said in great excitement:

“My dear, I am deeply touched and moved: our dear kindhearted doctor told my Nikodim Alexandritch yesterday that your husband was dead. Tell me, my dear⁠ ⁠… tell me, is it true?”

“Yes, it’s true; he is dead,” answered Nadyezhda Fyodorovna.

“That is awful, awful, my dear! But there’s no evil without some compensation; your husband was no doubt a noble, wonderful, holy man, and such are more needed in Heaven than on earth.”

Every line and feature in Marya Konstantinovna’s face began quivering as though little needles were jumping up and down under her skin; she gave an almond-oily smile and said, breathlessly, enthusiastically:

“And so you are free, my dear. You can hold your head high now, and look people boldly in the face. Henceforth God and man will bless your union with Ivan Andreitch. It’s enchanting. I am trembling with joy, I can find no words. My dear, I will give you away.⁠ ⁠… Nikodim Alexandritch and I have been so fond of you, you will allow us to give our blessing to your pure, lawful union. When, when do you think of being married?”

“I haven’t thought of it,” said Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, freeing her hands.

“That’s impossible, my dear. You have thought of it, you have.”

“Upon my word, I haven’t,” said Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, laughing. “What should we be married for? I see no necessity for it. We’ll go on living as we have lived.”

“What are you saying!” cried Marya Konstantinovna in horror. “For God’s sake, what are you saying!”

“Our getting married won’t make things any better. On the contrary, it will make them even worse. We shall lose our freedom.”

“My dear, my dear, what are you saying!” exclaimed Marya Konstantinovna, stepping back and flinging up her hands. “You are talking wildly! Think what you are saying. You must settle down!”

“ ‘Settle down.’ How do you mean? I have not lived yet, and you tell me to settle down.”

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna reflected that she really had not lived. She had finished her studies in a boarding-school and had been married to a man she did not love; then she had thrown in her lot with Laevsky, and had spent all her time with him on this empty, desolate coast, always expecting something better. Was that life?

“I ought to be married though,” she thought, but remembering Kirilin and Atchmianov she flushed and said:

“No, it’s impossible. Even if Ivan Andreitch begged me to on his knees⁠—even then I would refuse.”

Marya Konstantinovna sat on the sofa for a minute in silence, grave and mournful, gazing fixedly into space; then she got up and said coldly:

“Goodbye, my dear! Forgive me for having troubled you. Though it’s not easy for me, it’s my duty to tell you that from this day all is over between us, and, in spite of my profound respect for Ivan Andreitch, the door of my house is closed to you henceforth.”

She uttered these words with great solemnity and was herself overwhelmed by her solemn tone. Her face began quivering again; it assumed a soft almond-oily expression. She held out both hands to Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, who was overcome with alarm and confusion, and said in an imploring voice:

“My dear, allow me if only for a moment to be a mother or an elder sister to you! I will be as frank with you as a mother.”

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna felt in her bosom warmth, gladness, and pity for herself, as though her own mother had really risen up and were standing before her. She impulsively embraced Marya Konstantinovna and pressed her face to her shoulder. Both of them shed tears. They sat down on the sofa and for a few minutes sobbed without looking at one another or being able to utter a word.

“My dear child,” began Marya Konstantinovna, “I will tell you some harsh truths, without sparing you.”

“For God’s sake, for God’s sake, do!”

“Trust me, my dear. You remember of all the ladies here, I was the only one to receive you. You horrified me from the very first day, but I had not the heart to treat you with disdain like all the rest. I grieved over dear, good Ivan Andreitch as though he were my son⁠—a young man in a strange place, inexperienced, weak, with no mother; and I was worried, dreadfully worried.⁠ ⁠… My husband was opposed to our making his acquaintance, but I talked him over⁠ ⁠… persuaded him.⁠ ⁠… We began receiving Ivan Andreitch, and with him, of course, you. If we had not, he would have been insulted. I have a daughter, a son.⁠ ⁠… You understand the tender mind, the pure heart of childhood⁠ ⁠… ‘who so offendeth one of these little ones.’⁠ ⁠… I received you into my house and trembled for my children. Oh, when you become a mother, you will understand my fears. And everyone was surprised at my receiving you, excuse my saying so, as a respectable woman, and hinted to me⁠ ⁠… well, of course, slanders, suppositions.⁠ ⁠… At the bottom of my heart I blamed you, but you were unhappy, flighty, to be pitied, and my heart was wrung with pity for you.”

“But why, why?” asked Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, trembling all over. “What harm have I done anyone?”

“You are a terrible sinner. You broke the vow you made your husband at the altar. You seduced a fine young man, who perhaps had he not met you might have