LITMIR.BIZ

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knowing what to do or how to express the feelings of gratitude that were overflowing in his broad breast, he was constantly jumping up, stretching out his glass towards the Count’s glass and saying in a voice that trembled with emotion: ‘Your Excellency, my feelings toward you are well known. This day you have done so much for me that my affection for you appears like nothing. How have I merited such a great favour, your Excellency, or that you should take such an interest in my joy? It is only Counts and bankers who celebrate their weddings in such a way! What luxury, what a bevy of distinguished guests! Oh what can I say! Believe me, your Excellency, I shall never forget you, as I shall never forget this best and happiest day of my life.’

      And so on… Olenka was evidently not pleased with her husband’s florid respectfulness. One could see she was annoyed at his speeches, that raised smiles on the faces of the guests and even caused them to feel ashamed for him. Notwithstanding the champagne she had drunk, she was still not gay, and morose as before… She was as pale as she had been in church, and the same look of dread was in her eyes… She was silent, she answered indifferently all the questions that were asked, scarcely smiled at the Count’s witticisms, and she hardly touched the expensive dishes… The more Urbenin became slightly intoxicated and accounted himself the happiest of mortals, the more unhappy her pretty face appeared. It made me sad to look at her, and in order not to see her face I tried to keep my eyes on my plate.

      How could her sadness be explained? Was not regret beginning to gnaw at the poor girl’s heart? Or perhaps her vanity had expected even greater pomp?

      During the second course when I lifted my eyes and looked at her, I was painfully struck by her expression. The poor girl, in trying to answer some of the Count’s silly remarks, was making strenuous efforts to swallow something; sobs were welling up in her throat. She did not remove her handkerchief from her mouth, and looked at us timidly, like a frightened little animal, to see whether we had noticed that she wanted to cry.

      ‘Why are you looking so glum today?’ the Count asked. ‘Oh, ho! Pëtr Egorych, it’s your fault! Have the goodness to cheer your wife up! Ladies and gentlemen, I demand a kiss! Ha, ha! The kiss I demand is, of course, not for me, but only… that they should kiss each other!’

      Urbenin, smiling all over his red face, rose and began to blink. Olenka, forced by the calls and the demands of the guests, rose slightly and offered her motionless, lifeless lips to Urbenin. He kissed her… Olenka pressed her lips together as if she feared they would be kissed another time, and glanced at me… Probably my look was an evil one. Catching my eye, she suddenly blushed, and taking up her handkerchief, she began to blow her nose, trying in that way to hide her terrible confusion… The thought entered my mind that she was ashamed before me, ashamed of that kiss, ashamed of her marriage.

      ‘What have I to do with you?’ I thought, but at the same time I did not remove my eyes from her face, trying to discover the cause of her confusion.

      The poor little thing could not stand my gaze. It is true the blush of shame soon left her face, but in place of it tears began to rise up in her eyes, real tears such as I had never before seen on her face. Pressing her handkerchief to her face, she rose and rushed out of the dining-room.

      ‘Olga Nikolaevna has a bad headache,’ I hastened to say in order to explain her departure. ‘Already this morning she complained of her head…’

      ‘Not at all, brother,’ the Count said jokingly. ‘A headache has nothing to do with it. It’s all caused by the kiss, it has confused her. Ladies and gentlemen, I announce a severe reprimand for the bridegroom! He has not taught his bride how to kiss! Ha, ha, ha!’

      The guests, delighted with the Count’s wit, began to laugh… But they ought not to have laughed…

      Five minutes passed, ten minutes passed, and the bride did not return… A silence fell on the party… Even the Count ceased joking… Olenka’s absence was all the more striking as she had left suddenly without saying a word… To say nothing about the etiquette of the matter, Olenka had left the table immediately after the kiss, so it was evident she was cross at having been forced to kiss her husband… It was impossible to suppose she had gone away because she was confused… One can be confused for a minute, for two, but not for an eternity, as the first ten minutes of her absence appeared to us all. What a number of evil thoughts entered into the half tipsy minds of the men, what scandals were being prepared by the charming ladies! The bride had risen and left the table! What a picturesque scene for a drama in the provincial beau mondé!

      Urbenin began to be uneasy and looked around.

      ‘Nerves…’ he muttered. ‘Or perhaps something has gone wrong with her toilette… Who can account for anything with these women? She’ll come back directly - this very minute.’

      But when another ten minutes had passed and she had not appeared, he looked at me with such unhappy, imploring eyes that I was sorry for him.

      ‘Would it matter if I went to look for her?’ his eyes asked. ‘Won’t you help me, golubchek, to get out of this horrible position? Of all here you are the cleverest, the boldest, the most ready-witted man. Do help me!’

      I saw the entreaty in his unhappy eyes and decided to help him. How I helped him the reader will see farther on… I will only say that the bear who assisted the hermit in Krylov’s fable loses all its animal majesty, becomes pale, and turns into an innocent infusoria when I think of myself in the part of the ‘obliging fool’… The resemblance between me and the bear consists only in this that we both went to help quite sincerely without foreseeing any bad consequences from our help, but the difference between us is enormous… The stone with which I struck Urbenin’s forehead was many times more weighty…

      ‘Where is Olga Nikolaevna?’ I asked the lackey who had brought round the salad.

      ‘She went into the garden, sir,’ he replied.

      ‘This is becoming quite impossible, mesdames!’ I said in a jocular tone, addressing myself to the ladies. ‘The bride has gone away and my wine has become quite sour! I must go to look for her and bring her back, even if all her teeth were aching! The best man is an official personage, and he is going to show his authority!’

      I rose, amid the loud applause of my friend the Count, left the dining-room and went into the garden. The hot rays of the midday sun poured straight upon my head, which was already excited by wine. Suffocating heat and sultriness seemed to strike me in the face. I went along one of the side avenues at a venture, and, whistling some sort of melody, I gave full scope to my capacities as an ordinary detective. I examined all the bushes, summer-houses and caves, and when I began to be tormented by the regret that I had turned to the right instead of the left, I suddenly heard a strange sound. Somebody was laughing or crying. The sounds issued from one of the grottoes that I had left to examine last of all. Quickly entering it, I found the object of my search enveloped in dampness, the smell of mildew, mushrooms, and lime.

      She stood there leaning against a wooden column that was covered with black moss, and lifting her eyes full of horror and despair on me, she tore at her hair. Tears poured from her eyes as from a sponge that is pressed.

      ‘What have I done? What have I done?’ she muttered.

      ‘Yes, Olia, what have you done?’ I said, standing before her with folded arms.

      ‘Why did I marry him? Where were my eyes? Where was my sense?’

      ‘Yes, Olia… It is difficult to explain your action. To explain it by inexperience is too indulgent; to explain it by depravity — I would rather not…’

      ‘I only understood it today… only today! Why did I not understand it yesterday? Now all is irrevocable, all is lost! All, all! I might have married the man I love, the man who loves me!’

      ‘Who is that, Olia?’ I asked.

      ‘You!’ she said, looking me straight and openly in the eyes. ‘But I was too hasty! I was foolish! You are clever, noble, young… You are rich! You appeared to me unattainable!’

      ‘Well, that’s enough, Olia,’ I said,

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