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did not even think of protecting, ot insisting. He listened, bending down to her, still holding her hand, crushed and speechless There were tears in his eyes.

      “I told you yesterday,” Nastya went on, “that I could not be your wife. You see that I am not wanted here … and I foresaw all this long ago; your mamma will not give vou her blessing … others too. Though you would not regret it afterwards, because you are the most generous of men, yet you would be made miserable through me … with your soft-heartedness. …”

      “Just because of your soft-heartedness! Just because you are so soft-hearted! That’s it, Nastenka, that’s it!” chimed in her old father, who was standing on the other side of her chair. “That’s just it, that’s just the right word.”

      “I don’t want to bring dissension into your house on my account,” Nastenka went on. “And don’t be uneasy about me, Yegor Ilyitch; no one will interfere with me, no one will insult me … I am going to my father’s … this very day… . We had better say goodbye, Yegor Ilyitch, …”

      And poor Nastenka dissolved into tears again.

      “Nastasya Yevgrafovna! Surely this not not your final answer!” said my uncle, looking at her in unutterable despair. “Say only one word and I will sacrifice everything for you! …”

      “It is final, it is final, Yegor Ilyitch …” Yezhevikin put in again, “and she has explained it all very well to you, as I must own I did not expect her to. You are a very soft-hearted man, Yegor Ilyitch, yes, very soft-hearted, and you have graciously done us a great honour! A great honour, a great honour! … But all the same we are not a match for you, Yegor Ilyitch. You ought to have a bride, Yegor Ilyitch, who would be wealthy and of high rank, and a great beauty and with a voice too, who would walk about your rooms all in diamonds and ostrich feathers… . Then perhaps Foma Fomitch would make a little concession and give his blessing! And you will bring Foma Fomitch back! It was no use, no use your insulting him. It was from virtue, you know, from excess of fervour that he said too much, you know. You will say yourself that it was through his virtue — you will see! A most worthy man. And here he is getting wet through now. It would be better to fetch him back now… . For you will have to fetch him back, you know… .”

      “Fetch him back, fetch him back!” shrieked Madame la Generale. “What he says is right, my dear! …”

      “Yes,” Yezhevikin went on. “Here youi* illustrious parent has upset herself about nothing… . Fetch him back! And Nastaya and I meanwhile will be on the march… .”

      “Wait a minute, Yevgraf Larionitch!” cried my uncle, “I entreat you. There is one thing more must be said, Yevgraf, one thing only… .”

      Saying this, he walked away, sat down in an armchair in the corner, bowed his head, and put his hands over his eyes as though he were thinking over something.

      At that moment a violent clap of thunder sounded almost directly over the house. The whole building shook. Madame la Generate gave a scream, Miss Perepelitsyn did the same, the lady companions, and with them Mr. Bahtcheyev, all stupefied with terror, crossed themselves.

      “Holy Saint, Elijah the prophetI” five or six voices murmured at once.

      The thunder was followed by such a downpour that it seemed as though the whole lake were suddenly being emptied upon Stepantchikovo.

      “And Foma Fomitch, what will become of him now out in the fields?” piped Miss Pcrepelitsyn.

      “Yegorushka, fetch him back!” Madame la Générale cried in a voice of despair, and she rushed to the door as though crazy. Her attendant ladies held her back; they surrounded her, comforted her, whimpered, squealed. It was a perfect Bedlam!

      “He went off with nothing over his coat. If he had only taken an overcoat with him!” Miss Perepelitsyn went on. “He did not take an umbrella either. He will be struck by lightning! …”

      “He will certainly be struck!” Bahtchcycv chimed in. “And he will be soaked with rain afterwards, too.”

      “You might hold you tongue!” I whispered to him.

      “Why, he is a man, I suppose, or isn’t he?” Bahtcheyev answered wrathfully. “He is not a dog. I bet you wouldn’t go out of doors yourself. Come, go and have a bath for your plaisir.”

      Foreseeing how it might end and dreading the possibility, I went up to my uncle, who sat as though chained to his chair.

      “Uncle,” I said, bending down to his ear, “surely you won’t consent to bring Foma Fomitch back? Do understand that that would be the height of unseemliness, at any rate as long as Nastasya Yevgrafovna is here.”

      “My dear,” answered my uncle, raising his head and looking at me resolutely,” I have been judging myself at this moment and I know what I ought to do. Don’t be uneasy, there shall be no offence to Nastenka, I will ^ce to that… .”

      He got up from his seat and went to his mother.

      “Mamma,” he said, “don’t worry yourself, I will bring Foma Fomitch back, I will overtake him; he cannot have gone far yet.

      But I swear he shall come back only on one condition, that here publicly in the presence of all who were witnesses of the insult he should acknowledge how wrong he has been, and solemnly beg the forgiveness of this noble young lady. I will secure that, I will make him do it! He shall not cross the threshold of this house without it! I swear, too, mamma, solemnly, that if he consents to this of his own free will, I shall be ready to fall at his feet, and will give him anything, anything I can, without injustice to my children. I myself will renounce everything from this very day. The star of my happiness has set. I shall leave Stepantchikovo. You must all live here calmly and happily. I am going back to my regiment, and in the turmoil of war, on the field of battle, I will end my despairing days… . Enough! I am going!”

      At that moment the door opened, and Gavrila, soaked through and incredibly muddy, stood facing the agitated company.

      “What’s the matter? Where have you come from? Where is Foma?” cried my uncle, rushing up to Gavrila.

      Everyone followed him, and with eager curiosity crowded round the old man, from whom dirty water was literally trickling in streams. Shrieks, sighs, exclamations accompanied every word Gavrila uttered.

      “I left him at the birch copse, a mile away,” he began in a tearful voice. “The horse took fright at the lightning and bolted into a ditch.”

      “Well? ..,” cried my uncle.

      “The cart was upset. …”

      “Well? … and Foma?”

      “He fell into the ditch.”

      “And then? Tell us, you tantalising old man!”

      “He bruised his side and began crying. I unharnessed the horse, got on him and rode here to tell you.”

      “And Foma remained there?”

      “He got up and went on with his stick,” Gavrila concluded; then he heaved a sigh and bowed his head.

      The tears and sobs of the tender sex were indescribable.

      “Polkan!” cried my uncle, and he flew out of the room. Polkan was brought, my uncle leapt on him barebacked, and a minute later the thud of the horse’s hoofs told us that the pursuit of Foma Fomitch had begun. My uncle had actually galloped off without his cap.

      The ladies ran to the windows. Among the sighs and groans were heard words of advice. There was talk of a hot bath, of Foma Fomitch being rubbed with spirits, of some soothing drink, of the fact that Foma Fomitch “had not had a crumb of bread between his lips all day and that he is wet through on an empty stomach.” Miss Perepehtsyn found his forgotten spectacles in their case, and the find produced an extraordinary eliect: Madame la Générale pounced on them with tears and lamentations, and still keeping them in her hand, pressed up to the window again to watch the road. The suspense reached the utmost

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