At dinner Pavel Ivanitch looked blankly at his wife while he meditated:
“She writes that she is young and nice-looking. . . . So she’s not old. . . . Hm. . . . To tell the truth, honestly I am not so old and plain that no one could fall in love with me. My wife loves me! Besides, love is blind, we all know. . . .”
“What are you thinking about?” his wife asked him.
“Oh. . . my head aches a little. . .” Pavel Ivanitch said, quite untruly.
He made up his mind that it was stupid to pay attention to such a nonsensical thing as a love-letter, and laughed at it and at its authoress, but—alas!—powerful is the “dacha” enemy of mankind! After dinner, Pavel Ivanitch lay down on his bed, and instead of going to sleep, reflected:
“But there, I daresay she is expecting me to come! What a silly! I can just imagine what a nervous fidget she’ll be in and how her tournure will quiver when she does not find me in the arbour! I shan’t go, though. . . . Bother her!”
But, I repeat, powerful is the enemy of mankind.
“Though I might, perhaps, just out of curiosity . . .” he was musing, half an hour later. “I might go and look from a distance what sort of a creature she is. . . . It would be interesting to have a look at her! It would be fun, and that’s all! After all, why shouldn’t I have a little fun since such a chance has turned up?”
Pavel Ivanitch got up from his bed and began dressing. “What are you getting yourself up so smartly for?” his wife asked, noticing that he was putting on a clean shirt and a fashionable tie.
“Oh, nothing. . . . I must have a walk. . . . My head aches. . . . Hm.”