LITMIR.BIZ

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darling, poor darling! What suspicion are you taking with you to the grave?” I exclaimed to myself, sobbing. “What new trouble is poisoning and gnawing your heart, though you scarcely dare to breathe a word of it? My God! This long suffering which I understand now through and through, this life without a ray of sunshine, this timid love that asks for nothing! And even now, now, almost on her deathbed, when her heart is torn in two with pain, she is afraid, like a criminal, to utter the faintest murmur, the slightest complaint — and imagining, inventing a new sorrow, she has already submitted to it, is already resigned to it…”

      Towards the evening, in the twilight, I took advantage of the absence of Ovrov (the man who had come from Moscow) to go into the library and, unlocking a bookcase, began rummaging among the bookshelves to choose something to read aloud to Alexandra Mihalovna. I wanted to distract her mind from gloomy thoughts, and to choose something gay and light… I was a long time, absentmindedly choosing. It got darker, and my depression grew with the darkness. I found in my hands the same book again, with the page turned down on which even now I saw the imprint of the letter, which had never left my bosom since that day — the secret with which my existence seemed, as it were, to have been broken and to have begun anew, and with which so much that was cold, unknown, mysterious, forbidding and now so ominously menacing in the distance had come upon me… What will happen to me? I wondered: the corner in which I had been so snug and comfortable would be empty. The pure clean spirit which had guarded my youth would leave me. What was before me? I was standing in a reverie over my past, now so dear to my heart, as it were striving to gaze into the future, into the unknown that menaced me… I recall that minute as though I were living it again; it cut so sharply into my memory.

      I was holding the letter and the open book in my hands, my face was wet with tears. All at once I started with dismay; I heard the sound of a familiar voice. At the same time I felt that the letter was torn out of my hands. I shrieked and looked round; Pyotr Alexandrovitch was standing before me. He seized me by the arm and held me firmly; with his right hand he raised the letter to the light and tried to decipher the first lines… I cried out, and would have faced death rather than leave the letter in his hands. From his triumphant smile I saw that he had succeeded in making out the first lines. I lost my head…

      A moment later I had dashed at him, hardly knowing what I was doing, and snatched the letter from him. All this happened so quickly that I had not time to realise how I had got the letter again. But seeing that he meant to snatch it out of my hand again, I made haste to thrust it into my bosom and step back three or four paces.

      For half a minute we stared at each other in silence. I was still trembling with terror, pale. With quivering lips that turned blue with rage, he broke the silence.

      “That’s enough!” he said in a voice weak with excitement. “You surely don’t wish me to use force; give me back the letter of your own accord.”

      Only now I realised what had happened and I was breathless with resentment, shame, and indignation at this coarse brutality. Hot tears rolled down my burning cheeks. I was shaking all over with excitement, and was for some time incapable of uttering a word.

      “Did you hear?” he said, advancing two paces towards me.

      “Leave me alone, leave me alone!” I cried, moving away from him. “Your behaviour is low, ungentlemanly. You are forgetting yourself! Let me go!…”

      “What? What’s the meaning of this? And you dare to take up that tone to me… after what you’ve… Give it me, I tell you!”

      He took another step towards me, but glancing at me saw such determination in my eyes that he stopped, as though hesitating.

      “Very good!” he said dryly at last, as though he had reached a decision, though he could still scarcely control himself. “That will do later, but first…”

      Here he looked round him.

      “You… Who let you into the library? How is it that this bookcase is open? Where did you get the key?”

      “I am not going to answer you,” I said. “I can’t talk to you. Let me go, let me go.”

      I went towards the door.

      “Excuse me,” he said, holding me by the arm. “You are not going away like that.”

      I tore my arm away from him without a word, and again made a movement towards the door.

      “Very well. But I really cannot allow you to receive letters from your lovers in my house….”

      I cried out with horror, and looked at him frantically….

      “And so…”

      “Stop!” I cried. “How can you? How could you say it to me? My God! My God!…”

      “What? What? Are you threatening me too?”

      But as I gazed at him, I was pale and overwhelmed with despair. The scene between us had reached a degree of exasperation I could not understand. My eyes besought him not to prolong it. I was ready to forgive the outrage if only he would stop. He looked at me intently, and visibly hesitated.

      “Don’t drive me to extremes,” I whispered in horror.

      “No, I must get to the bottom of it,” he said at last, as though considering. “I must confess the look in your eyes almost made me hesitate,” he added with a strange smile. “But unluckily, the fact speaks for itself. I succeeded in reading the first words of your letter. It’s a love letter. You won’t persuade me it isn’t! No, dismiss that idea from your mind! And that I could doubt it for a moment only proves that I must add to your excellent qualities your abilities as an expert liar, and therefore I repeat…”

      As he talked, his face was more and more distorted with anger. He turned white, his lips were drawn and twitching, so that he could hardly articulate the last words. It was getting dark. I stood defenceless, alone, facing a man who was capable of insulting a woman. All appearances were against me too; I was tortured with shame, distracted, and could not understand this man’s fury. Beside myself with terror, I rushed out of the room without answering him, and only came to myself as I stood on the threshold of Alexandra Mihalovna’s study. At that instant I heard his footsteps; I was just about to go in when I stopped short as though thunderstruck.

      “What will happen to her?” was the thought that flashed through my mind. “That letter!… No; better anything in the world than that last blow to her,” and I was rushing back. But it was too late; he was standing beside me.

      “Let us go where you like, only not here, not here!” I whispered, clutching at his arm. “Spare her! I will go back to the library or… where you like! You will kill her!”

      “It is you who are killing her,” he said, pushing me away.

      Every hope vanished. I felt that to bring the whole scene before Alexandra Mihalovna was just what he wanted.

      “For God’s sake,” I said, doing my utmost to hold him back. But at that instant the curtain was raised, and Alexandra Mihalovna stood facing us. She looked at us in surprise. Her face was paler than usual. She could hardly stand on her feet. It was evident that it had cost her a great effort to get as far as us when she heard our voices.

      “Who is here? What are you talking about here?” she asked, looking at us in the utmost amazement.

      There was a silence that lasted several moments, and she turned as white as a sheet. I flew to her, held her tight in my arms, and drew her back into her room. Pyotr Alexandrovitch walked in after me. I hid my face on her bosom and clasped her more and more tightly in my arms, half dead with suspense.

      “What is it, Nyetochka, what’s happened to you both?” Alexandra Mihalovna asked a second time.

      “Ask her, you defended her so warmly yesterday,” said Pyotr Alexandrovitch, sinking heavily into an armchair.

      I held her more tightly in my embrace.

      “But, my goodness, what is the meaning of it?”

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