The Count sent me letter after letter, each one more rueful and humbler than the last… He implored me to ‘forget everything!’ and come to him; he apologized for Pshekhotsky, he begged me to forgive that ‘kind, simple, but somewhat shallow man’, he was surprised that owing to trifles I had decided to break off old and friendly connections. In one of his last letters he promised to come to me and, if I wished it, to bring Pshekhotsky with him, who would ask my pardon, ‘although he did not feel that he was at all at fault’. I read the letters and in answer begged each messenger to leave me in peace. I knew well how to be capricious!
At the very height of my nervous agitation, when I, standing at the window, was deciding to go away somewhere - anywhere except to the Count’s estate - when I was tormenting myself with arguments, self-reproaches, and visions of love that awaited me with Olga, my door opened quietly, I heard light footsteps behind me, and soon my neck was encircled by two pretty little arms.
‘Olga, is that you?’ I asked and looked round.
I recognized her by her hot breath, by the manner in which she hung on my neck, and even by her scent. Pressing her head to my cheek, she appeared to me extraordinarily happy… From happiness she could not say a word… I pressed her to my breast and - where had the melancholy, and all the questions with which I had been tormenting myself during the whole of three days, disappeared? I laughed and jumped about with joy like the veriest schoolboy.
Olga was in a blue silk dress, which suited her pale face and splendid flaxen hair very well. The dress was in the latest fashion and must have been very expensive. It probably cost Urbenin a quarter of his yearly salary.
‘How lovely you are today!’ I said, lifting Olga up in my arms and kissing her neck. ‘How are you? Quite well?’
‘Why, you haven’t much of a place here!’ she said, casting her eyes round my study. ‘You’re a rich man, you receive a high salary, and yet… you live quite poorly.’
‘Not everybody can live as luxuriously as the Count, my darling,’ I said. ‘But let us leave my wealth in peace. What good genius has brought you into my den?’
‘Stop, Serezha! You’ll crumple my frock… Put me down… I’ve only come to you for a moment, darling! I told everybody at home I was going to Akat’ikha, the Count’s washerwoman, who lives here only three doors off. Let me go, darling! It’s awkward. Why haven’t you been to see me for so long?’
I answered something, placed her on a chair opposite me, and began to contemplate her beauty. For a minute we looked at each other in silence.
‘You are very pretty, Olia!’ I sighed, it’s a pity and a shame that you’re so pretty!’
‘Why is it a pity?’
‘The devil only knows who’s got you.’
‘But what more do you want? Am I not yours? Here I am… Listen, Serezha! Will you tell me the truth if I ask you?’
‘Of course, only the truth.’
‘Would you have married me if I had not married Pëtr Egorych?’
‘Probably not,’ I wanted to say, but why should I probe the painful wound in poor Olia’s heart that was already so troubled?
‘Certainly,’ I said in the tone of a man speaking the truth.
Olia sighed and cast her eyes down.
‘What a mistake I’ve made! What a mistake! And what’s worst of all it can’t be rectified! I suppose I can’t get divorced from him?’
‘You can’t.’
I can’t understand why I was in such a hurry! We girls are so silly and giddy… There’s nobody to whip us! However, one can’t undo the past, and to reason about it is useless… Neither reasoning nor tears are of any good. Serezha, I cried all last night! He was there… lying next to me, and I was thinking of you… I couldn’t sleep… I wanted to run away in the night, even into the wood to father… It is better to live with a mad father than with this - what’s his name.’
‘Reasoning won’t help… Olia, you ought to have reasoned when you drove home with me from Tenevo, and were so happy at getting married to a rich man… It’s too late to practise eloquence now…’
‘Too late… Then let it be so!’ Olga said with a decisive wave of the hand, it will be possible to live, if it is no worse… Goodbye, I must be off…’
‘No, not goodbye…’
I drew Olia towards me and covered her face with kisses, as if I were trying to reward myself for the lost three days. She pressed close against me like a lamb sheltering from the cold and warmed my face with her hot breath… There was stillness in the room…
‘The husband killed his wife!’ bawled my parrot.
Olia shivered, released herself from my embraces, and looked inquiringly at me.
‘It’s only the parrot, my soul,’ I said. ‘Calm yourself.’
‘The husband killed his wife!’ Ivan Dem’yanych repeated again.
Olia rose, put on her hat in silence, and gave me her hand. Dread was written on her face.
‘What if Urbenin gets to know?’ she asked, looking at me with wide-open eyes. ‘He is capable of killing me.’
‘What nonsense!’ I said, laughing. ‘What sort of a fellow would I be if I allowed him to kill you? He’s hardly capable of anything as extravagant as murder… Are you going? Well, then, goodbye, my child! I will wait… Tomorrow, in the wood, near the house where you lived… Shall we meet there…?’
After seeing Olia off, I returned to my study, where I found Polycarp. He was standing in the middle of the room, he looked sternly at me and shook his head contemptuously.
‘Sergey Petrovich, see that this sort of thing does not happen here again: I won’t have it,’ he said in the tone of a severe parent. ‘I don’t like it…’
‘What’s “it”?’
‘That thing… You think I did not see? I saw everything… See that she doesn’t dare come here again. This is no house for that sort of philandering. There are other places for that…’
I was in the best of humours, so Polycarp’s spying and his censorious tone did not make me angry. I only laughed and sent him to the kitchen.
I had hardly had time to collect my thoughts after Olga’s visit when another guest arrived. A carriage rattled up to my door and Polycarp, spitting to each side and mumbling abuse, announced the arrival of that there fellow, may he be…!’ etc., etc. It was the Count, whom he hated with the whole strength of his soul. The Count entered, looked tearfully at me, and shook his head.
‘You turn away… You don’t want to speak…’
‘I don’t turn away,’ I said.
‘I am so fond of you, Serezha, and you… for a trifle! Why do you wound me? Why?’
The Count sat down, sighed, and shook his head.
‘Well, you’ve played the fool long enough!’ I said. ‘All right!’
I had a strong influence upon this weak, puny little man; it was as strong as my contempt for him… My contemptuous tone never offended him; on the contrary… When he heard my ‘All right!’ he jumped up and embraced me.
‘I have brought him with me… He is sitting in the carriage… Do you wish him to apologize?’
‘Do