LITMIR.BIZ

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air. He dropped a very low bow to his lodger…. The scene brought Ordynov to a sense of reality at last. Eager to understand the position of affairs, he looked intently at Yaroslav Ilyitch, who began to be uneasy and flustered.

      “Come in, come in,” he brought out at last. “Come in, most precious Vassily Mihalitch; honour me with your presence, and put a stamp of… on all these ordinary objects..,” said Yaroslav Ilyitch, pointing towards a corner of the room, flushing like a crimson rose; confused and angry that even his most exalted sentences floundered and missed fire, he moved the chair with a loud noise into the very middle of the room.

      “I hope I’m not hindering you, Yaroslav Ilyitch,” said Ordynov. “I wanted… for two minutes…”

      “Upon my word! As though you could hinder me, Vassily Mihalitch; but let me offer you a cup of tea. Hey, servant…. I am sure you, too, will not refuse a cup!”

      Murin nodded, signifying thereby that he would not. Yaroslav Ilyitch shouted to the servant who came in, sternly demanded another three glasses, then sat down beside Ordynov. For some time he turned his head like a plaster kitten to right and to left, from Murin to Ordynov, and from Ordynov to Murin. His position was extremely unpleasant. He evidently wanted to say something, to his notions extremely delicate, for one side at any rate. But for all his efforts he was totally unable to utter a word… Ordynov, too, seemed in perplexity. There was a moment when both began speaking at once…. Murin, silent, watching them both with curiosity, slowly opened his mouth and showed all his teeth….

      “I’ve come to tell you,” Ordynov said suddenly, “that, owing to a most unpleasant circumstance, I am obliged to leave my lodging, and…”

      “Fancy, what a strange circumstance!” Yaroslav Ilyitch interrupted suddenly. “I confess I was utterly astounded when this worthy old man told me this morning of your intention. But…”

      “He told you,” said Ordynov, looking at Murin with surprise. —

      Murin stroked his beard and laughed in his sleeve.

      “Yes,” Yaroslav Ilyitch rejoined; “though I may have made a mistake. But I venture to say for you — I can answer for it on my honour that there was not a shadow of anything derogatory to you in this worthy old man’s words….”

      Here Yaroslav Ilyitch blushed and controlled his emotion with an effort. Murin, after enjoying to his heart’s content the discomfiture of the other two men, took a step forward.

      “It is like this, your honour,” he began, bowing politely to Ordynov: “His honour made bold to take a little trouble on your behalf. As it seems, sir — you know yourself — the mistress and I, that is, we would be glad, freely and heartily, and we would not have made bold to say a word… but the way I live, you know yourself, you see for yourself, sir! Of a truth, the Lord barely keeps us alive, for which we pray His holy will; else you see yourself, sir, whether it is for me to make lamentation.” Here Murin again wiped his beard with his sleeve.

      Ordynov almost turned sick.

      “Yes, yes, I told you about him, myself; he is ill, that is this malheur. I should like to express myself in French but, excuse me, I don’t speak French quite easily; that is…”

      “Quite so…”

      “Quite so, that is…”

      Ordynov and Yaroslav Ilyitch made each other a half bow, each a little on one side of his chair, and both covered their confusion with an apologetic laugh. The practical Yaroslav Ilyitch recovered at once.

      “I have been questioning this honest man minutely,” he began. “He has been telling me that the illness of this woman….” Here the delicate Yaroslav Ilyitch, probably wishing to conceal a slight embarrassment that showed itself in his face, hurriedly looked at Murin with inquiry.

      “Yes, of our mistress…”

      The refined Yaroslav Ilyitch did not insist further.

      “The mistress, that is, your former landlady; I don’t know how… but there! She is an afflicted woman, you see… She says that she is hindering you… in your studies, and he himself… you concealed from me one important circumstance, Vassily Mihalitch!”

      “What?”

      “About the gun,” Yaroslav Ilyitch brought out, almost whispering in the most indulgent tone with the millionth fraction of reproach softly ringing in his friendly tenor.

      “But,” he added hurriedly, “he has told me all about it.

      And you acted nobly in overlooking his involuntary wrong to you. I swear I saw tears in his eyes.”

      Yaroslav Ilyitch flushed again, his eyes shone and he shifted in his chair with emotion.

      “I, that is, we, sir, that is, your honour, I, to be sure, and my mistress remember you in our prayers,” began Murin, addressing Ordynov and looking at him while Yaroslav Ilyitch overcame his habitual agitation; “and you know yourself, sir, she is a sick, foolish woman; my legs will hardly support me…”

      “Yes, I am ready,” Ordynov said impatiently; “please, that’s enough, I am going directly…”

      “No, that is, sir, we are very grateful for your kindness” (Murin made a very low bow); “that is not what I meant to tell you, sir; I wanted to say a word — you see, sir, she came to me almost from her home, that is from far, as the saying is, beyond the seventh water — do not scorn our humble talk, sir, we are ignorant folk — and from a tiny child she has been like this! A sick brain, hasty, she grew up in the forest, grew up a peasant, all among bargemen and factory hands; and then their house must burn down; her mother, sir, was burnt, her father burnt to death — I daresay there is no knowing what she’ll tell you… I don’t meddle, but the Chir — chirurgi-cal Council examined her at Moscow. You see, sir, she’s quite incurable, that’s what it is. I am all that’s left her, and she lives with me. We live, we pray to God and trust in the Almighty; I never cross her in anything.”

      Ordynov’s face changed. Yaroslav Ilyitch looked first at one, then at the other.

      “But, that is not what I wanted to say… no!” Murin corrected himself, shaking his head gravely. “She is, so to say, such a featherhead, such a whirligig, such a loving, headstrong creature, she’s always wanting a sweetheart — if you will pardon my saying so — and someone to love; it’s on that she’s mad. I amuse her with fairy tales, I do my best at it. I saw, sir, how she — forgive my foolish words, sir,” Murin went on, bowing and wiping his beard with his sleeve— “how she made friends with you; you, so to say, your excellency, were desirous to approach her with a view to love.”

      Yaroslav Ilyitch flushed crimson, and looked reproachfully at Murin. Ordynov could scarcely sit still in his seat.

      “No… that is not it, sir… I speak simply, sir, I am a peasant, I am at your service…. Of course, we are ignorant folk, we are your servants, sir,” he brought out, bowing low; “and my wife and I will pray with all our hearts for your honour…. What do we need? To be strong and have enough to eat — we do not repine; but what am I to do, sir; put my head in the noose? You know yourself, sir, what life is and will have pity on us; but what will it be like, sir, if she has a lover, too!… Forgive my rough words, sir; I am a peasant, sir, and you are a gentleman…. You’re a young man, your excellency, proud and hasty, and she, you know yourself, sir, is a little child with no sense — it’s easy for her to fall into sin. She’s a buxom lass, rosy and sweet, while I am an old man always ailing. Well, the devil, it seems, has tempted your honour. I always flatter her with fairy tales, I do indeed; I flatter her; and how we will pray, my wife and I, for your honour! How we will pray! And what is she to you, your excellency, if she is pretty? Still she is a simple woman, an unwashed peasant woman, a foolish rustic maid, a match for a peasant like me. It is not for a gentleman like you, sir, to be friends with peasants! But she and I will pray to God for your honour; how we will pray!”

      Here Murin bowed very low and for a long while remained with his back bent, continually

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