The Possessed ( The Devils ) Part 20

VARVARA PETROVNA rang the bell and threw herself into an easy chair by the window.

"Sit here, my dear." She motioned Marya Timofyevna to a seat in the middle of the room, by a large round table. "Stepan Trofimovitch, what is the meaning of this? See, see, look at this woman, what is the meaning of it?"

"I... I..." faltered Stepan Trofimovitch.

But a footman came in.

"A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as possible! Keep the horses!"

"Mais, chere et excellente amie, dans quelle inquietude..." Stepan Trofimovitch exclaimed in a dying voice.

"Ach! French! French! I can see at once that it's the highest society," cried Marya Timofyevna, clapping her hands, ecstatically preparing herself to listen to a conversation in French. Varvara Petrovna stared at her almost in dismay.

We all sat in silence, waiting to see how it would end. Shatov did not lift up his head, and Stepan Trofimovitch was overwhelmed with confusion as though it were all his fault; the perspiration stood out on his temples. I glanced at Liza (she was sitting in the corner almost beside Shatov). Her eyes darted keenly from Varvara Petrovna to the cripple and back again; her lips were drawn into a smile, but not a pleasant one. Varvara Petrovna saw that smile. Meanwhile Marya Timofyevna was absolutely transported. With evident enjoyment and without a trace of embarra.s.sment she stared at Varvara Petrovna's beautiful drawing-room-the furniture, the carpets, the pictures on the walls, the old-fas.h.i.+oned painted ceiling, the great bronze crucifix in the corner, the china lamp, the alb.u.ms, the objects on the table.

"And you're here, too, Shatushka!" she cried suddenly. "Only fancy, I saw you a long time ago, but I thought it couldn't be you! How could you come here!" And she laughed gaily.

"You know this woman?" said Varvara Petrovna, turning to him at once.

"I know her," muttered Shatov. He seemed about to move from his chair, but remained sitting.

"What do you know of her? Make haste, please!"

"Oh, well..." he stammered with an incongruous smile. "You see for yourself...."

"What do I see? Come now, say something!"

"She lives in the same house as I do... with her brother... an officer."

"Well?"

Shatov stammered again.

"It's not worth talking about..." he muttered, and relapsed into determined silence. He positively flushed with determination.

"Of course one can expect nothing else from you," said Varvara Petrovna indignantly. It was clear to her now that they all knew something and, at the same time, that they were all scared, that they were evading her questions, and anxious to keep something from her.

The footman came in and brought her, on a little silver tray, the cup of coffee she had so specially ordered, but at a sign from her moved with it at once towards Marya Timofyevna.

"You were very cold just now, my dear; make haste and drink it and get warm."

"Merci."

Marya Timofyevna took the cup and at once went off into a giggle at having said merci to the footman. But meeting Varvara Petrovna's reproving eyes, she was overcome with shyness and put the cup on the table.

"Auntie, surely you're not angry?" she faltered with a sort of flippant playfulness.

"Wh-a-a-t?" Varvara Petrovna started, and drew herself up in her chair. "I'm not your aunt. What are you thinking of?"

Marya Timofyevna, not expecting such an angry outburst, began trembling all over in little convulsive shudders, as though she were in a fit, and sank back in her chair.

"I... I... thought that was the proper way," she faltered, gazing open-eyed at Varvara Petrovna. "Liza called you that."

"What Liza?"

"Why, this young lady here," said Marya Timofyevna, pointing with her finger.

"So she's Liza already?"

"You called her that yourself just now," said Marya Timofyevna growing a little bolder. "And I dreamed of a beauty like that," she added, laughing, as it were accidentally.

Varvara Petrovna reflected, and grew calmer, she even smiled faintly at Marya Timofyevna's last words; the latter, catching her smile, got up from her chair, and limping, went timidly towards her.

"Take it. I forgot to give it back. Don't be angry with my rudeness."

She took from her shoulders the black shawl that Varvara Petrovna had wrapped round her.

"Put it on again at once, and you can keep it always. Go and sit down, drink your coffee, and please don't be afraid of me, my dear, don't worry yourself. I am beginning to understand you."

"Chere amie..." Stepan Trofimovitch ventured again.

"Ach, Stepan Trofimovitch, it's bewildering enough without you. You might at least spare me.... Please ring that bell there, near you, to the maid's room."

A silence followed. Her eyes strayed irritably and suspiciously over all our faces. Agasha, her favourite maid, came in.

"Bring me my check shawl, the one I bought in Geneva. What's Darya Pavlovna doing?"

"She's not very well, madam."

"Go and ask her to come here. Say that I want her particularly, even if she's not well."

At that instant there was again, as before, an unusual noise of steps and voices in the next room, and suddenly Praskovya Ivanovna, panting and "distracted," appeared in the doorway. She was leaning on the arm of Mavriky Nikolaevitch.

"Ach, heavens, I could scarcely drag myself here. Liza, you mad girl, how you treat your mother!" she squeaked, concentrating in that squeak, as weak and irritable people are wont to do, all her acc.u.mulated irritability. "Varvara Petrovna, I've come for my daughter!"

Varvara Petrovna looked at her from under her brows, half rose to meet her, and scarcely concealing her vexation brought out: "Good morning, Praskovya Ivanovna, please be seated, I knew you would come!"

II There could be nothing surprising to Praskovya Ivanovna in such a reception. Varvara Petrovna had from childhood upwards treated her old school friend tyrannically, and under a show of friends.h.i.+p almost contemptuously. And this was an exceptional occasion too. During the last few days there had almost been a complete rupture between the two households, as I have mentioned incidentally already. The reason of this rupture was still a mystery to Varvara Petrovna, which made it all the more offensive; but the chief cause of offence was that Praskovya Ivanovna had succeeded in taking up an extraordinarily supercilious att.i.tude towards Varvara Petrovna. Varvara Petrovna was wounded of course, and meanwhile some strange rumours had reached her which also irritated her extremely, especially by their vagueness. Varvara Petrovna was of a direct and proudly frank character, somewhat slap-dash in her methods, indeed, if the expression is permissible. There was nothing she detested so much as secret and mysterious insinuations, she always preferred war in the open. Anyway, the two ladies had not met for five days. The last visit had been paid by Varvara Petrovna, who had come back from "that Drozdov woman" offended and perplexed. I can say with certainty that Praskovya Ivanovna had come on this occasion with the nave conviction that Varvara Petrovna would, for some reason, be sure to stand in awe of her. This was evident from the very expression of her face. Evidently too, Varvara Petrovna was always possessed by a demon of haughty pride whenever she had the least ground for suspecting that she was for some reason supposed to be humiliated. Like many weak people, who for a long time allow themselves to be insulted without resenting it, Praskovya Ivanovna showed an extraordinary violence in her attack at the first favourable opportunity. It is true that she was not well, and always became more irritable in illness. I must add finally, that our presence in the drawing-room could hardly be much check to the two ladies who had been friends from childhood, if a quarrel had broken out between them. We were looked upon as friends of the family, and almost as their subjects. I made that reflection with some alarm at the time. Stepan Trofimovitch, who had not sat down since the entrance of Varvara Petrovna, sank helplessly into an arm-chair on hearing Praskovya Ivanovna's squeal, and tried to catch my eye with a look of despair. Shatov turned sharply in his chair, and growled something to himself. I believe he meant to get up and go away. Liza rose from her chair but sank back again at once without even paying befitting attention to her mother's squeal-not from "waywardness," but obviously because she was entirely absorbed by some other overwhelming impression. She was looking absent-mindedly into the air, no longer noticing even Marya Timofyevna.

III "Ach, here!" Praskovya Ivanovna indicated an easy chair near the table and sank heavily into it with the a.s.sistance of Mavriky Nikolaevitch. "I wouldn't have sat down in your house, my lady, if it weren't for my legs," she added in a breaking voice.

Varvara Petrovna raised her head a little, and with an expression of suffering pressed the fingers of her right hand to her right temple, evidently in acute pain (tic douloureux).

"Why so, Praskovya Ivanovna; why wouldn't you sit down in my house? I possessed your late husband's sincere friends.h.i.+p all his life; and you and I used to play with our dolls at school together as girls."

Praskovya Ivanovna waved her hands.

"I knew that was coming! You always begin about the school when you want to reproach me-that's your way. But to my thinking that's only fine talk. I can't stand the school you're always talking about."