“Oh, nonsense, nonsense! Put your pride in your pocket! You've come, and you must listen now!”
“Well, at all events – ”
“Oh! if you can't bear to be an eavesdropper, let it alone, and be made a fool of! One goes out of one's way solely out of pity for you, and you must needs make difficulties! What is it to me? I'm not doing this for myself! I shall leave the house before night, in any case!”
Paul, steeling his heart, bent to the keyhole.
His pulses were raging and throbbing. He did not realise what was going on, or what he was doing, or where he was.
CHAPTER VIII
“So you were very gay, prince, at Natalia Dimitrievna's?” asked Maria Alexandrovna, surveying the battlefield before her; she was anxious to begin the conversation as innocently as possible; but her heart beat loud with hope and agitation.
After dinner the Prince had been carried off to the salon, where he was first received in the morning. Maria Alexandrovna prided herself on this room, and always used it on state occasions.
The old man, after his six glasses of champagne, was not very steady on his legs; but he talked away all the more, for the same reason.
Surveying the field of battle before the fray, Maria Alexandrovna had observed with satisfaction that the voluptuous old man had already begun to regard Zina with great tenderness, and her maternal heart beat high with joy.
“Oh! ch – charming – very gay indeed!” replied the prince, “and, do you know, Nat – alia Dimitrievna is a wo – wonderful woman, a ch – charming woman!”
Howsoever busy with her own high thoughts and exalted ideas, Maria Alexandrovna's heart waxed wrathful to hear such a loud blast of praise on her rival's account.
“Oh! Prince,” she began, with flashing eyes, “if Natalia Dimitrievna is a charming woman in your eyes, then I really don't know what to think! After such a statement, dear Prince, you must not claim to know society here – no, no!”
“Really! You sur – pr – prise me!”
“I assure you – I assure you, mon cher Prince! Listen Zina, I must just tell the prince that absurd story about what Natalia Dimitrievna did when she was here last week. Dearest prince, I am not a scandal-monger, but I must, I really must tell you this, if only to make you laugh, and to show you a living picture, as it were, of what people are like in this place! Well, last week this Natalia Dimitrievna came to call upon me. Coffee was brought in, and I had to leave the room for a moment – I forget why – at all events, I went out. Now, I happened to have remarked how much sugar there was in the silver sugar basin; it was quite full. Well, I came back in a few minutes – looked at the sugar basin, and! – three lumps – three little wretched lumps at the very bottom of the basin, prince! – and she was all alone in the room, mind! Now that woman has a large house of her own, and lots of money! Of course this is merely a funny story – but you can judge from this what sort of people one has to deal with here!”
“N – no! you don't mean it!” said the prince, in real astonishment. “What a gr – eedy woman! Do you mean to say she ate it all up?”
“There, prince, and that's your ‘charming woman!’ What do you think of that nice little bit of lady-like conduct? I think I should have died of shame if I had ever allowed myself to do such a dirty thing as that!”
“Ye – yes, ye – yes! but, do you know, she is a real ‘belle femme’ all the same!”
“What! Natalia Dimitrievna? My dear prince; why, she is a mere tub of a woman! Oh! prince, prince! what have you said? I expected far better taste of you, prince!”
“Ye – yes, tub – tub, of course! but she's a n – nice figure, a nice figure! And the girl who danced – oh! a nice figure too, a very nice figure of a wo – woman!”
“What, Sonia? Why she's a mere child, prince? She's only thirteen years old.”
“Ye – yes, ye – yes, of course; but her figure de – velops very fast – charming, charming! And the other da – ancing girl, she's de – veloping too – nicely: she's dirty rather – she might have washed her hands, but very at – tractive, charming!” and the prince raised his glass again and hungrily inspected Zina. “Mais quelle charmante personne!– what a lovely girl!” he muttered, melting with satisfaction.
“Zina, play us something, or – better still, sing us a song! How she sings, prince! she's an artiste – a real artiste; oh if you only knew, dear prince,” continued Maria Alexandrovna, in a half whisper, as Zina rose to go to the piano with her stately but quiet gait and queenly composure, which evidently told upon the old man; “if you only knew what a daughter that is to me! how she can love; how tender, how affectionate she is to me! what taste she has, what a heart!”
“Ye – yes! ye – yes! taste. And do you know, I have only known one woman in all my life who could compare with her in love – liness. It was the late C – ountess Nainsky: she died thirty years ago, a w – onderful woman, and her beauty was quite sur – passing. She married her co – ook at last.”
“Her cook, prince?”
“Ye – yes, her cook, a Frenchman, abroad. She bought him a count's title a – broad; he was a good-looking fellow enough, with little moustaches – ”
“And how did they get on?”
“Oh, very well indeed; however, they p – arted very soon; they quarrelled about some sa – sauce. He robbed her – and bo – olted.”
“Mamma, what shall I play?” asked Zina.
“Better sing us something, Zina. How she sings, prince! Do you like music?”
“Oh, ye – yes! charming, charming. I love music pass – sionately. I knew Beethoven, abroad.”
“Knew Beethoven!” cried Maria Alexandrovna, ecstatically. “Imagine, Zina, the prince knew Beethoven! Oh, prince, did you really, really know the great Beethoven?”
“Ye – yes, we were great friends, Beet – hoven and I; he was always taking snuff – such a funny fellow!”
“What, Beethoven?”
“Yes, Beethoven; or it may have been some other German fellow – I don't know; there are a great many Germans there. I forget.”
“Well, what shall I sing, mamma?” asked Zina again.
“Oh Zina darling, do sing us that lovely ballad all about knights, you know, and the girl who lived in a castle and loved a troubadour. Don't you know! Oh, prince, how I do love all those knightly stories and songs, and the castles! Oh! the castles, and life in the middle ages, and the troubadours, and heralds and all. Shall I accompany you, Zina? Sit down near here, prince. Oh! those castles, those castles!”
“Ye – yes, ye – yes, castles; I love ca – astles too!” observed the prince, staring at Zina all the while with the whole of his one eye, as if he would like to eat her up at once. “But, good heavens,” he cried, “that song! I know that s – song. I heard that song years – years ago! Oh! how that song reminds me of so – omething. Oh, oh.”
I will not attempt to describe the ecstatic state of the prince while Zina sang.
She warbled an old French ballad which had once been all the fashion. Zina sang it beautifully; her lovely face, her glorious eyes, her fine sweet contralto voice, all this went to the prince's heart at once; and her dark thick hair, her heaving bosom, her proud, beautiful, stately figure as she sat at the piano, and played and sang, quite finished him. He never took his eyes off her, he panted with excitement. His old heart, partially revivified with champagne, with the music, and with awakening recollections (and who is there who has no beloved memories of the past?), his old heart beat faster and faster. It was long since it had last beat in this way. He was ready to fall on his knees at her feet, when Zina stopped singing,