“No, I don’t…”

“Do you remember,” Pavel Pavlovich went on in his frenetic whisper, “do you remember how you demanded once that I tell you everything, everything, openly, sir, ‘the very last word …’—do you remember, sir? Well, the time has come for saying that word… let’s go, sir!”

Velchaninov reflected, glanced once more at Pavel Pavlovich, and agreed to leave.

Their suddenly announced departure upset the parents and made all the girls terribly indignant.

“At least another cup of tea,” Mme. Zakhlebinin moaned plaintively.

“Why did you get so upset?” the old man, in a stern and displeased tone, addressed the grinning and stubbornly silent Pavel Pavlovich.

“Pavel Pavlovich, why are you taking Alexei Ivanovich away?” the girls cooed plaintively, at the same time glancing at him with bitterness. And Nadya looked at him so angrily that he cringed all over, yet—he did not yield.

“But in fact, Pavel Pavlovich—and I thank him for it—has reminded me of an extremely important matter, which I might have let slip,” Velchaninov laughed, shaking hands with the host, bowing to the hostess and to the girls, and, as if especially among them, to Katerina Fedoseevna, which again was noticed by everyone.

“We thank you for coming and will always be glad to see you, all of us,” Zakhlebinin concluded weightily.

“Ah, we’re so glad…” the mother of the family picked up with feeling.

“Come again, Alexei Ivanovich, come again!” many voices were heard from the balcony when he was already sitting in the carriage with Pavel Pavlovich; barely heard was one little voice, softer than all the others, that said: “Come again, dear, dear Alexei Ivanovich!”

“It’s the little redhead!” thought Velchaninov.

XIII

WHOSE SIDE HAS MORE ON IT

He was able to think about the little redhead, and yet vexation and repentance had long been wearying his soul. And during this whole day—spent so amusingly, one would have thought—sorrow had almost never left him. Before singing the romance, he had already not known where to escape from it; maybe that was why he had sung with such feeling.

“And I could stoop so low… break away from everything!” he began to reproach himself, but hastened to interrupt his thoughts. And it seemed so low to lament; it would have been much more pleasant to quickly get angry with someone.

“Mor-ron!” he whispered spitefully, glancing sideways at Pavel Pavlovich, who was silently sitting next to him in the carriage.

Pavel Pavlovich remained obstinately silent, perhaps concentrating and preparing himself. With an impatient gesture he occasionally took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

“He’s sweating!” Velchaninov kept up his spite.

Only once did Pavel Pavlovich advert to the coachman with a question: “Will there be a thunderstorm, or not?”

“Aye, and a good one! There’s bound to be, it was such a sultry day.” Indeed, the sky was darkening, and distant lightning flashed. They entered the city at half past ten.

“I’m going to your place, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich obligingly addressed Velchaninov, not far from his house.

“I understand; but I must warn you that I feel seriously unwell…”

“I won’t stay long, I won’t stay long!”

As they came through the gateway, Pavel Pavlovich ran over for a moment to Mavra at the caretaker’s.

“Why did you go there?” Velchaninov asked sternly when the man caught up with him and they went into his rooms.

“Never mind, sir, just so… the coachman, sir…”

“I won’t let you drink!”

No answer came. Velchaninov lit the candles, and Pavel Pavlovich settled at once into an armchair. Velchaninov frowningly stopped before him.

“I also promised to tell you my ‘last’ word,” he began with an inward, still suppressed, irritation. “Here it is, this word: I consider in good conscience that all matters between us have been mutually ended, so that we even have nothing to talk about; do you hear—nothing; and therefore it might be better if you left now and I locked the door behind you.”

“Let’s square accounts, Alexei Ivanovich!” Pavel Pavlovich said, but with a somehow especially meek look in his eyes.

“Square ac-counts?” Velchaninov was terribly surprised. “That’s a strange phrase to utter! What ‘accounts’ have we got to ‘square’? Hah! Is it that ‘last word’ of yours, which you promised earlier to… reveal to me?”

“The very same, sir.”

“We have no more accounts to square, they were squared long ago!” Velchaninov said proudly.

“Do you really think so, sir?” Pavel Pavlovich said in a soulful voice, somehow strangely joining his hands in front of him, finger to finger, and holding them in front of his chest. Velchaninov did not answer him and started pacing the room. “Liza? Liza?” moaned in his heart.

“But, anyhow, what is it you wanted to square?” he addressed him frowningly, after a rather prolonged silence. The man had followed him around the room with his eyes all the while, holding his joined hands in front of him in the same way.

“Don’t go there anymore, sir,” he almost whispered in a pleading voice, and suddenly got up from the chair.

“What? So it’s only about that?” Velchaninov laughed spitefully. “Though you’ve made me marvel all day today!” he began venomously, but suddenly his whole face changed: “Listen to me,” he said sadly and with profoundly sincere feeling, “I consider that I’ve never stooped so low in anything as I did today—first by agreeing to go with you, and then—by what happened there… It was so pretty, so pathetic… I befouled and demeaned myself by getting involved… and forgetting… Well, never mind!” he suddenly recollected himself. “Listen: you happened to fall on me today when I was irritated and sick… well, no point in justifying myself! I won’t go there anymore, and I assure you that I have absolutely no interest there,” he concluded resolutely.

“Really? Really?” Pavel Pavlovich cried out, not concealing his joyful excitement. Velchaninov glanced at him with scorn and again started pacing the room.

“It seems you’ve decided to be happy at all costs?” he finally could not refrain from observing.

“Yes, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich softly and naively confirmed.

“What is it to me,” thought Velchaninov, “that he’s a buffoon and his malice comes only from stupidity? All the same I can’t help hating him—though he may not deserve it!”

“I’m an ‘eternal husband,’ sir!” Pavel Pavlovich said with a humbly submissive smile at himself. “I’ve long known this little phrase of yours, Alexei Ivanovich, ever since you lived there with us, sir. I memorized many of your words from that year. When you said ‘eternal husband’ here the last time, I realized it, sir.”

Mavra came in with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Forgive me, Alexei Ivanovich, you know I can’t do without it, sir. Don’t regard it as boldness; consider me a stranger and not worthy of you, sir.”

“Yes…” Velchaninov allowed with disgust, “but I assure you that I’m feeling unwell…”

“Quickly, quickly, just one moment now!” Pavel Pavlovich hurried, “only one little glass, because my throat…”

He greedily drank the glass in one gulp and sat down—casting an all but tender glance at Velchaninov. Mavra went out.

“How loathsome!” Velchaninov whispered.

“It’s only the girlfriends, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich suddenly said cheerfully, thoroughly revived.

“How? What? Ah, yes, you’re still at it…”

“Only the girlfriends, sir! And still so young; we’re showing off out of gracefulness, that’s what, sir! It’s even charming. And then—then, you know, I’ll become her slave; she’ll know esteem, society… she’ll get completely reeducated, sir.”

“By the way, I must give him the bracelet!” Velchaninov thought, frowning and feeling for the case in his coat pocket.