VII
Arátoff found few pedestrians on the boulevard. The weather was raw and quite cold. He strove not to think of what he was doing. He forced himself to turn his attention to all the objects he came across and pretended to assure himself that he had come out to walk precisely like the other people…. The letter of the day before was in his side-pocket, and he was uninterruptedly conscious of its presence. He walked the length of the boulevard a couple of times, darting keen glances at every feminine form which approached him, and his heart thumped, thumped violently…. He began to feel tired, and sat down on a bench. And suddenly the idea occurred to him: "Come now, what if that letter was not written by her but by some one else, by some other woman?" In point of fact, that should have made no difference to him … and yet he was forced to admit to himself that he did not wish this. "It would be very stupid," he thought, "still more stupid than that!" A nervous restlessness began to take possession of him; he began to feel chilly, not outwardly but inwardly. Several times he drew out his watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at the face, put it back again,—and every time forgot how many minutes were lacking to five o'clock. It seemed to him as though every one who passed him stared at him in a peculiar manner, surveying him with a certain sneering surprise and curiosity. A wretched little dog ran up, sniffed at his legs and began to wag its tail. He flourished his arms angrily at it. He was most annoyed of all by a small boy from a factory in a bed-ticking jacket, who seated himself on the bench and first whistled, then scratched his head, dangling his legs, encased in huge, broken boots, the while, and staring at him from time to time. "His employer is certainly expecting him," thought Arátoff, "and here he is, the lazy dog, wasting his time idling about…."
But at that same moment it seemed to him as though some one had approached and taken up a stand close behind him … a warm current emanated thence….
He glanced round…. It was she!
He recognised her immediately, although a thick, dark-blue veil concealed her features. He instantly sprang from the bench, and remained standing there, unable to utter a word. She also maintained silence. He felt greatly agitated … but her agitation was as great as his: Arátoff could not help seeing even through the veil how deadly pale she grew. But she was the first to speak.
"Thank you," she began in a broken voice, "thank you for coming. I did not hope…." She turned away slightly and walked along the boulevard. Arátoff followed her.
"Perhaps you condemn me," she went on, without turning her head.—"As a matter of fact, my action is very strange…. But I have heard a great deal about you … but no! I … that was not the cause…. If you only knew…. I wanted to say so much to you, my God!… But how am I to do it?… How am I to do it!"
Arátoff walked by her side, but a little in the rear. He did not see her face; he saw only her hat and a part of her veil … and her long, threadbare cloak. All his vexation against her and against himself suddenly returned to him; all the absurdity, all the awkwardness of this tryst, of these explanations between utter strangers, on a public boulevard, suddenly presented itself to him.
"I have come hither at your behest," he began in his turn, "I have come, my dear madame" (her shoulders quivered softly, she turned into a side path, and he followed her), "merely for the sake of having an explanation, of learning in consequence of what strange misunderstanding you were pleased to appeal to me, a stranger to you, who … who only guessed, as you expressed it in your letter, that it was precisely you who had written to him … because he guessed that you had tried, in the course of that literary morning to show him too much … too much obvious attention."
Arátoff uttered the whole of this little speech in the same resonant but firm voice in which men who are still very young answer at examinations on questions for which they are well prepared…. He was indignant; he was angry…. And that wrath had loosed his tongue which was not very fluent on ordinary occasions.
She continued to advance along the path with somewhat lagging steps…. Arátoff followed her as before, and as before saw only her little old mantilla and her small hat, which was not quite new either. His vanity suffered at the thought that she must now be thinking: "All I had to do was to make a sign, and he immediately hastened to me!"
Arátoff lapsed into silence … he expected that she would reply to him; but she did not utter a word.
"I am ready to listen to you," he began again, "and I shall even be very glad if I can be of service to you in any way … although, I must confess, nevertheless, that I find it astonishing … that considering my isolated life…."
But at his last words Clara suddenly turned to him and he beheld the same startled, profoundly-sorrowful visage, with the same large, bright tears in its eyes, with the same woful expression around the parted lips; and the visage was so fine thus that he involuntarily broke off short and felt within himself something akin to fright, and pity and forbearance.
"Akh, why … why are you like this? …" she said with irresistibly sincere and upright force—and what a touching ring there was to her voice!—"Is it possible that my appeal to you can have offended you?… Is it possible that you have understood nothing?… Ah, yes! You have not understood anything, you have not understood what I said to you. God knows what you have imagined about me, you have not even reflected what it cost me to write to you!… You have been anxious only on your own account, about your own dignity, your own peace!… But did I…." (she so tightly clenched her hands which she had raised to her lips that her fingers cracked audibly)…. "As though I had made any demands upon you, as though explanations were requisite to begin with…. 'My dear madame'…. 'I even find it astonishing'…. 'If I can be of service to you'…. Akh, how foolish I have been!—I have been deceived in you, in your face!… When I saw you for the first time…. There…. There you stand…. And not one word do you utter! Have you really not a word to say?"
She had been imploring…. Her face suddenly flushed, and as suddenly assumed an evil and audacious expression,—"O Lord! how stupid this is!"—she cried suddenly, with a harsh laugh.—"How stupid our tryst is! How stupid I am! … and you, too!… Fie!"
She made a disdainful gesture with her hand as though sweeping him out of her path, and passing around him she ran swiftly from the boulevard and disappeared.
That gesture of the hand, that insulting laugh, that final exclamation instantly restored Arátoff to his former frame of mind and stifled in him the feeling which had risen in his soul when she turned to him with tears in her eyes. Again he waxed wroth, and came near shouting after the retreating girl: "You may turn out a good actress, but why have you taken it into your head to play a comedy on me?"
With great strides he returned home, and although he continued to be indignant and to rage all the way thither, still, at the same time, athwart all these evil, hostile feelings there forced its way the memory of that wondrous face which he had beheld only for the twinkling of an eye…. He even put to himself the question: "Why did not I answer her when she demanded from me at least one word?"—"I did not have time," … he thought…. "She did not give me a chance to utter that word…. And what would I have uttered?"
But he immediately shook his head and said, "An actress!"
And yet, at the same time, the vanity of the inexperienced, nervous youth, which had been wounded at first, now felt rather flattered at the passion which he had inspired….
"But on the other hand," he pursued his reflections, "all that is at an end of course…. I must have appeared ridiculous to her."….
This thought was disagreeable to him, and again he grew angry … both at her … and at himself. On reaching home he locked himself in his study. He did not wish to encounter Platósha. The kind old woman came to his door a couple of times, applied her ear to the key-hole, and merely sighed and whispered her prayer….
"It has begun!" she thought…. "And he is only five-and-twenty…. Akh, it is early, early!"