Kviashnin did not mind it. He, who used to sack factory directors and managers without bothering to give the reason, silently put up with the presence of a Svezhevsky. There must be an important service afoot, and the future millionaire was eagerly biding his time.
Passed on by word of mouth, the rumour reached Bobrov’s ear. He was not surprised, for he had formed a firm and accurate opinion of the Zinenko family. The only thing which vexed him was that the gossip was bound to brush Nina with its filthy tail. After the talk at the station, the girl had become dearer to him than ever. To him alone she had trustingly revealed her soul, a soul that was beautiful even in its vacillation and weakness. Everybody else knew only her costume and appearance, he thought. Jealousy – with its cynical distrust, with the constantly piqued pride attending it, with its pettiness and coarseness – was foreign to his trusting and delicate nature.
Bobrov had never yet known the warmth of genuine, deep woman’s love. He was too shy and diffident to take from life what was perhaps his due. No wonder that his heart had rushed joyfully out to meet the new, strong feeling.
Throughout the last few days he had been under the spell of the talk they had had at the station. He recalled it again and again in minutest detail, each time seeing a deeper meaning in Nina’s words. Every morning he woke up with a vague feeling that something big and joyful had entered his soul, something that held out hopes of great felicity.
He was irresistibly drawn to the Zinenkos’; he wanted once more to make sure of his happiness, once more to hear from Nina those half-confessions – now timid, now naively bold. But he was restrained by Kvashnin’s presence, and he tried to set his mind at ease by telling himself that in no circumstances could Kvashnin stay in Ivankovo for more than a fortnight.
By a lucky chance he saw Nina before Kvashnin left. It happened on a Sunday, three days after the ceremony of blowing in the blast-furnace. Bobrov was riding on Fairway down a broad, hard-beaten road leading from the mill to the station. It was about two o’clock, and the day was cool and cloudless. Fairway was going along at a brisk pace, pricking up his ears and tossing his shaggy head. At a curve near a warehouse, Bobrov saw a lady in riding-habit coming downhill on a large bay, followed by a rider on a small white Kirghiz horse. Soon he recognized her as Nina wearing a long, flowing dark green skirt, yellow gauntlets, and a low, glossy top hat. She was sitting in the saddle with a confident grace. The slim English mare raised its slender legs high as it carried her along at a round, springy trot, its neck arched into a steep curve. Nina’s companion, Svezhevsky, was lagging far behind; working his elbows, jerking and bouncing, he was trying to catch the dangling stirrup with the toe of his boot.
As she sighted Bobrov Nina broke her mount into a gallop. Coming alongside Bobrov, she reined in the horse abruptly, and it began to fidget, dilating its fine wide nostrils, and fretting loudly at the bit which dripped lather. Nina’s face was flushed from the ride, and her hair, which had slipped out of the hat at the temples, fell back in long, thin curls.
“Where did you get such a beauty?” asked Bobrov, when he had at last managed to pull up the prancing Fairway and, bending forward in the saddle, squeeze Nina’s fingertips.
“Isn’t she? It’s a present from Kvashnin.”
“I would have refused a present like that,” said Bobrov rudely, angered by Nina’s careless reply.
Nina blushed.
“Just why?”
“Because – what’s Kvashnin to you, after all? A relative? Or your fiance?”
“Goodness, how squeamish you are on other people’s behalf!” Nina exclaimed caustically.
But seeing the pained look on his face, she softened at once.
“You know he can afford it easily. He’s so rich!”
Svezhevsky was now a dozen paces from them. Suddenly Nina bent forward to Bobrov, gently touched his hand with the tip of her whip, and said under her breath, in the tone of a little girl confessing her guilt, “Don’t be cross, now, please. I’ll give him back the horse, you grumpy man! You see how much your opinion means to me.”
Bobrov’s eyes shone with happiness, and he could not help holding out his hands to Nina. But he said nothing and merely drew a deep sigh. Svezhevsky was riding up, bowing and trying to sit his horse carelessly.
“I expect you know about our picnic?” he shouted from a distance.
“Never heard of it,” answered Bobrov.
“I mean the picnic that Vasily Terentyevich is getting up. We’re going to Beshenaya Balka.”
“Haven’t heard about it.”
“It’s true. Please come, Andrei Ilyich,” Nina put in. “Next Wednesday, at five o’clock. We’ll start from the station.”
“Is it a subscription picnic?”
“I think so. But I’m not certain.”
Nina looked questioningly at Svezhevsky.
“That’s right – a subscription picnic,” he confirmed. “Vasily Terentyevich has asked me to make certain arrangements. It’s going to be a stupendous affair, I can tell you. Something extra smart. But it’s a secret so far. You’ll be surprised.”
Nina could not help adding playfully, “I started all this. The other day I was saying that it would be fun to go on an outing to the woods, and Vasily Terentyevich – ”
“I’m not coming,” said Bobrov brusquely.
“Oh, yes, you are!” Nina’s eyes flashed. “Now march, gentlemen!” she cried, starting off at a gallop. “Listen to what I have to tell you, Andrei Ilyich!”
Svezhevsky was left behind. Nina and Bobrov were riding side by side, Nina smiling and looking into his eyes, and he frowning resentfully.
“Why, I thought up that picnic specially for you, my unkind, suspicious friend,” she said with deep tenderness. “I insist on knowing what it was you didn’t finish telling me at the station that time. Nobody’ll be in our way at the picnic.”
And once again an instant change came over Bobrov’s heart. He felt tears o-f tender emotion welling up in his eyes, and exclaimed passionately, “Oh, Nina, how I love you!”
But Nina did not seem to have heard his sudden confession. She drew in the reins and forced the horse to change to a walk.
“So you will come, won’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, by all means!”
“See that you do. And now let’s wait for my companion and – goodbye. I must be riding home.”
As he took leave of her he felt through the glove the warmth of her hand which responded with a long, firm grasp. Her dark eyes were full of love.
IX
At four o’clock next Wednesday, the station was packed with the picnickers. Everybody felt gay and at ease. For once Kvashnin’s visit was winding up more happily than anybody had dared to expect. He had neither stormed nor hurled thunderbolts at anyone, and nobody had been told to go; in fact, it was rumoured that most of the clerical staff would get a rise in the near future. Besides, the picnic bid fair to be very entertaining. Beshenaya Balka, where it was to be, was less than ten miles away if you rode on horseback, and the road was extremely picturesque. The sunny weather which had set in a week earlier enhanced the trip.
There were some ninety guests; they clustered in animated groups on the platform, talking and laughing loudly. French, German, and Polish phrases could be heard along with Russian conversation. Three Belgians had brought their cameras, hoping to take flash snapshots. General curiosity was roused by the complete secrecy about the details of the picnic. Svezhevsky with a mysterious and important air hinted at certain “surprises” but refused to be more specific.
The first surprise was a special train. At five o’clock sharp, a new ten-wheeled locomotive of American make left its shed. The ladies